IT 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


IT 


AND  OTHER  STORIES* 


BY 

GOTJVERNEUR  MORRIS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  FOOTPRINT,  AND  OTHER  STORIES,' 
"  THE  SPREAD  EAGLE  AND  OTHER  STORIES/'  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1912 


fl/ 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  March,  1912 


TO  ELSIE 


CROWN  the  heads  of  better  men 

With  lilies  and  with  morning-glories! 
I'm  unworthy  of  a  pen — 

These  are  Bread-and-Butter  stories. 
Shall  I  tell  you  how  I  know? 
Strangers  wrote  and  told  me  so. 

II 

He  who  only  toils  for  fame 
I  pronounce  a  silly  Billy. 
/  can't  dine  upon  a  name, 
Or  look  dressy  in  a  lily. 

And — oh  shameful  truth  to  utter! — 
I  won't  live  on  bread  and  butter. 

in 

Sometimes  now  (and  sometimes  then) 

Meat  and  wine  my  soul  requires. 
Satan  tempted  me — my  pen 
Fills  the  house  with  open  fires. 
I  must  have  a  horse  or  two — 
Babies,  oh  my  Love — and  you! 

G.  M. 

AIKKN,  February  10,  1912. 


241457 


CONTENTS 

JPAQB 

It 1 

„  Two  Business  Women 31 

vThe  Trap     . 73 

^Sapphira 119 

The  Bride's  Dead 169 

„ Holding  Hands 199 

x  The  Claws  of  The  Tiger 235 

Growing  Up 273 

The  Battle  of  Aiken 297 

An  Idyl  of  Pelham  Bay  Park 313 

Back  There  in  the  Grass 337 

SAsdbri              .     .     >  * 363 


IT 


IT 


Prana  Beach  would  be  a  part  of  the  solid  west 
coast  if  it  wasn't  for  a  half  circle  of  the  deadliest, 
double-damned,  orchid-haunted  black  morass,  with  a 
solid  wall  of  insects  that  bite,  rising  out  of  it.  But  the 
beach  is  good  dry  sand,  and  the  wind  keeps  the  bugs 
back  in  the  swamp.  Between  the  beach  and  the 
swamp  is  a  strip  of  loam  and  jungle,  where  some 
niggers  live  and  a  god. 

I  landed  on  Prana  Beach  because  I'd  heard — but 
it  wasn't  so  and  it  doesn't  matter.  Anyhow,  I  landed 
— all  alone;  the  canoemen  wouldn't  come  near  enough 
for  me  to  land  dry,  at  that.  Said  the  canoe  would 
shrivel  up,  like  a  piece  of  hide  in  a  fire,  if  it  touched 
that  beach;  said  they'd  turn  white  and  be  blown  away 
like  puffs  of  smoke.  They  nearly  backed  away  with 
my  stuff;  would  have  if  I  hadn't  pulled  a  gun  on  them. 
But  they  made  me  wade  out  and  get  it  myself — thirty 
foot  of  rope  with  knots,  dynamite,  fuses,  primers,  com 
pass,  grub  for  a  week,  and — well,  a  bit  of  skin  in  a 
half-pint  flask  with  a  rubber  and  screw-down  top. 
Not  nice,  it  wasn't,  wading  out  and  back  and  out  and 
back.  There  was  one  shark,  I  remember,  came  in  so 

3 


1/lH  V  ••::.. 5  ?:"---;       IT 

close  that  he  grounded,  snout  out,  and  made  a  noise 
like  a  pig.  Sun  was  going  down,  looking  like  a  bloody 
murder  victim,  and  there  wasn't  going  to  be  any 
twilight.  It's  an  uncertain  light  that  makes  wading 
nasty.  It  might  be  salt-water  soaking  into  my  jeans, 
but  with  that  beastly  red  light  over  it,  it  looked  like 
blood. 

The  canoe  backed  out  to  the — you  can't  call  'em  a 
nautical  name.  They've  one  big,  square  sail  of  crazy- 
quilt  work — raw  silk,  pieces  of  rubber  boots,  rattan 
matting,  and  grass  cloth,  all  colors,  all  shapes  of 
patches.  They  point  into  the  wind  and  then  go  side 
ways;  and  they  don't  steer  with  an  oar  that  Charon 
discarded  thousands  of  years  ago,  that's  painted  crim 
son  and  raw  violet;  and  the  only  thing  they'd  be  good 
for  would  be  fancy  wood-carpets.  Mine,  or  better, 
ours,  was  made  of  satinwood,  and  was  ballasted  with 
scrap-iron,  rotten  ivory,  and  ebony.  There,  I've  told 
you  what  she  was  like  (except  for  the  live  entomological 
collection  aboard),  and  you  may  call  her  what  you 
please.  The  main  point  is  that  she  took  the  canoe 
aboard,  and  then  disobeyed  orders.  Orders  were  to 
lie  at  anchor  (which  was  a  dainty  thing  of  stone,  all 
carved)  till  further  orders.  But  she'd  gotten  rid  of 
me,  and  she  proposed  to  lie  farther  off,  and  come  back 
(maybe)  when  I'd  finished  my  job.  So  she  pointed 
straight  in  for  where  I  was  standing  amid  my  duds 


IT 

and  chattels,  just  as  if  she  was  going  to  thump  herself 
ashore — and  then  she  began  to  slip  off  sideways  like  a 
misbegotten  crab,  and  backward,  too — until  what  with 
the  darkness  tumbling  down,  and  a  point  o'  palms,  I 
lost  sight  of  her.  Why  didn't  I  shout,  and  threaten, 
and  jump  up  and  down? 

Because  I  was  alone  on  Prana  Beach,  between  the 
sea  and  the  swamp.  And  because  the  god  was  begin 
ning  to  get  stirred  up;  and  because  now  that  I'd  gone 
through  six  weeks'  fever  and  boils  to  get  where  I  was, 
I  wished  I  hadn't  gotten  there.  No,  I  wasn't  scared. 
You  wouldn't  be  if  you  were  alone  on  a  beach,  after 
sundown,  deserted  you  may  say,  your  legs  shaky  with 
being  wet,  and  your  heart  hot  and  mad  as  fire  because 
you  couldn't  digest  the  things  you  had  to  put  into 
your  stomach,  and  if  you'd  heard  that  the  beach  was 
the  most  malodorous,  ghoul-haunted  beach  of  the  seas, 
and  if  just  as  you  were  saying  to  yourself  that  you  for 
one  didn't  believe  a  word  of  it — if,  I  say,  just  then  It 
began  to  cut  loose — back  of  you — way  off  to  the  left — 
way  off  to  the  right — why  you'd  have  been  scared. 

It  wasn't  the  noise  it  made  so  much  as  the  fact  that 
it  could  make  any  noise  at  all.  .  .  .  Shut  your  mouth 
tight  and  hum  on  the  letter  m-mmmmmmm — that's 
it  exactly.  Only  It's  was  ten  times  as  loud,  and  vi 
brating.  The  vibrations  shook  me  where  I  stood. 

With  the  wind  right,  that  humming  must  have  car- 
5 


IT 

ried  a  mile  out  to  sea;  and  that's  how  it  had  gotten 
about  that  there  was  a  god  loose  on  Prana  Beach.  It 
was  an  It-god,  the  niggers  all  agreed.  You'll  have 
seen  'em  carved  on  paddles — shanks  of  a  man,  bust 
of  a  woman,  nose  of  a  snapping-turtle,  and  mouth 
round  like  the  letter  O.  But  the  Prana  Beach  one 
didn't  show  itself  that  first  night.  It  hummed  awhile 
— m-m-m-m-m — oh,  for  maybe  a  minute — stopped 
and  began  again — jumped  a  major  fifth,  held  it  till  it 
must  have  been  half  burst  for  breath,  and  then  went 
down  the  scale  an  octave,  hitting  every  note  in  the 
middle,  and  giving  the  effect  of  one  damned  soul  meet 
ing  another  out  in  eternity  and  yelling  for  pure  joy 
and  malice.  The  finish  was  a  whoop  on  the  low  note 
so  loud  that  it  lifted  my  hair.  Then  the  howl  was  cut 
off  as  sharp  and  neat  and  sudden  as  I've  seen  a  China 
man's  head  struck  from  his  body  by  the  executioner 
at  Canton — Big  Wan — ever  seen  him  work?  Very 
pretty.  Got  to  perfection  what  golfers  call  "the  fol 
low  through." 

Yes.  I  sauntered  into  the  nearest  grove,  whistling 
"Yankee  Doodle,"  lighted  a  fire,  cooked  supper,  and 
turned  in  for  the  night.  Not!  ...  I  took  to  the 
woods  all  right,  but  on  my  .stomach.  And  I  curled  up 
so  tight  that  my  knees  touched  my  chin.  Ever  try 
it?  It's  the  nearest  thing  to  having  some  one  with 
you,  when  you're  cold  and  alone.  Adam  must  have 

6 


IT 

had  a  hard-shell  back  and  a  soft-shell  stomach,  like 
an  armadillo — how  does  it  run? — "dillowing  in  his 
armor."  Because  in  moments  of  real  or  imaginary 
danger  it's  the  first  instinct  of  Adam's  sons  to  curl  up, 
and  of  Eve's  daughters.  Ever  touch  a  Straits  Settle 
ment  Jewess  on  the  back  of  the  hand  with  a  lighted 
cigarette?  .  .  . 

As  I'm  telling  you,  I  curled  up  good  and  tight,  head 
and  knees  on  the  grub  sack,  Colt  and  dynamite  handy, 
hair  standing  perfectly  straight  up,  rope  round  me  on 
the  ground  in  a  circle — I  had  a  damn-fool  notion  that 
It  mightn't  be  allowed  to  cross  knotted  ropes,  and  I 
shook  with  chills  and  nightmares  and  cramps.  I 
could  only  lie  on  my  left  side,  for  the  boils  on  my  right. 
I  couldn't  keep  my  teeth  quiet.  I  couldn't  do  any 
thing  that  a  Christian  ought  to  do,  with  a  heathen  It- 
god  strolling  around.  Yes,  .  .  .  the  thing  came  out 
on  the  beach,  in  full  view  of  where  I  was,  but  I  couldn't 
see  it,  because  of  the  pitch  dark.  It  came  out,  and 
made  noises  with  its  feet  in  the  sand — up  and  down 
— up  and  down — scrunch — scrunch — something  like  a 
man  walking,  and  not  in  a  hurry.  Something  like  it, 
but  not  exactly.  The  It's  feet  (they  have  seven  toes 
according  to  the  nigger  paddles)  didn't  touch  the 
ground  as  often  as  a  man's  would  have  done  in  walking 
the  distance.  There'd  be  one  scrunch  and  then  quite 
a  long  pause  before  the  next.  It  sounded  like  a  very, 

7 


IT 

very  big  man,  taking  the  very  longest  steps  he  could. 
But  there  wasn't  any  more  mouth  work.  And  for 
that  I'm  still  offering  up  prayers  of  thanksgiving;  for, 
if — say  when  it  was  just  opposite  where  I  lay,  and  not 
fifty  yards  off — it  had  let  off  anything  sudden  and 
loud,  I'd  have  been  killed  as  dead  as  by  a  stroke  of 
lightning. 

Well,  I  was  just  going  to  break,  when  day  did. 
Broke  so  sweet,  and  calm,  and  pretty;  all  pink  land 
ward  over  the  black  jungle,  all  smooth  and  baby-blue 
out  to  sea.  Till  the  sun  showed,  there  was  a  land 
breeze — not  really  a  breeze,  just  a  stir,  a  cool  quiet 
moving  of  spicy  smells  from  one  place  to  another — 
nothing  more  than  that.  Then  the  sea  breeze  rose 
and  swept  the  sky  and  ocean  till  they  were  one  and 
the  same  blue,  the  blue  that  comes  highest  at  Tiffany's; 
and  little  puffs  of  shore  birds  came  in  on  the  breeze 
and  began  to  run  up  and  down  on  the  beach,  jabbing 
their  bills  into  the  damp  sand  and  flapping  their  lit 
tle  wings.  It  was  like  Eden — Eden -by -the -Sea — I 
wouldn't  have  been  surprised  if  Eve  had  come  out  of 
the  woods  yawning  and  stretching  herself.  And  I 
wouldn't  have  cared — if  I'd  been  shaved. 

I  took  notice  of  all  this  peacefulness  and  quiet, 
twenty  grains  of  quinine,  some  near  food  out  of  a  can, 
and  then  had  a  good  look  around  for  a  good  place  to 
stop,  in  case  I  got  started  running. 

8 


IT 

I  fixed  on  a  sandy  knoll  that  had  a  hollow  in  the 
top  of  it,  and  one  twisted  beach  ebony  to  shade  the 
hollow.  At  the  five  points  of  a  star  with  the  knoll  for 
centre,  but  at  safe  blasting  distance,  I  planted  dyna 
mite,  primed  and  short-fused.  If  anything  chased 
me  I  hoped  to  have  time  to  spring  one  of  these  mines  in 
passing,  tumble  into  my  hollow  and  curl  up,  with  my 
fingers  in  my  ears. 

I  didn't  believe  in  heathen  gods  when  the  sea  and 
sky  were  that  exclusive  blue;  but  I  had  learned  before 
I  was  fifteen  years  old  that  day  is  invariably  followed 
by  night,  and  that  between  the  two  there  is  a  time 
toward  the  latter  end  of  which  you  can  believe  any 
thing.  It  was  with  that  dusky  period  in  view  that  I 
mined  the  approaches  to  my  little  villa  at  Eden-by-the- 
Sea. 

Well,  after  that  I  took  the  flask  that  had  the  slip  of 
skin  in  it,  unscrewed  the  top,  pulled  the  rubber  cork, 
and  fished  the  skin  out,  with  a  salvage  hook  that  I 
made  by  unbending  and  rebending  a  hair-pin.  .  .  . 
Don't  smile.  I've  always  had  a  horror  of  accidentally 
finding  a  hair-pin  in  my  pocket,  and  so  I  carry  one  on 
purpose.  .  .  .  See?  Not  an  airy,  fairy  Lillian,  but 
an  honest,  hard-working  Jane  .  .  .  good  to  clean  a 
pipe  with.  So  I  fished  out  the  slip  of  skin  (with  the 
one  I  had  then)  and  spread  it  out  on  my  knee,  and 
translated  what  was  written  on  it,  for  the  thousandth 
time. 


IT 

Can  you  read  that?  The  old-fashioned  S's  mix 
you  up.  It's  straight  modern  Italian.  I  don't  know 
what  the  ink's  made  of,  but  the  skin's  the  real  article — 
it's  taken  from  just  above  the  knee  where  a  man  can 
get  at  himself  best.  It  runs  this  way,  just  like  a  "  per 
sonal"  in  the  Herald,  only  more  so: 

Prisoner  on  Prana  Beach  will  share  treasure  with  rescuing 
party.  Come  at  once. 

Isn't  that  just  like  an  oil-well-in-the-South-west- 
Company's  prospectus  ?  "  Only  a  little  stock  left;  price 
of  shares  will  be  raised  shortly  to  thirteen  cents." 

I  bit.  It  was  knowing  what  kind  of  skin  the  ad. 
was  written  on  that  got  me.  I'd  seen  cured  human 
hide  before.  In  Paris  they've  got  a  Constitution  printed 
on  some  that  was  peeled  off  an  aristocrat  in  the  Revo 
lution,  and  I've  seen  a  seaman's  upper  arm  and  back, 
with  the  tattoos,  in  a  bottle  of  alcohol  in  a  museum  on 
Fourteenth  Street,  New  York — boys  under  fourteen 
not  admitted.  I  wasn't  a  day  over  eight  when  I  saw 
those  tattoos.  However.  .  .  . 

To  get  that  prisoner  loose  was  the  duty  that  I  owed 
to  humanity;  to  share  the  treasure  was  the  duty  that 
I  owed  to  myself.  So  I  got  together  some  niggers, 
and  the  fancy  craft  I've  described  (on  shares  with  a 
Singapore  Dutchman,  who  was  too  fat  to  come  him 
self,  and  too  much  married),  and  made  a  start  .  .  . 
You're  bothered  by  my  calling  them  niggers.  Is  that 

10 


IT 

it?  Well,  the  Mason  and  Dixon  line  ran  plump 
through  my  father's  house;  but  mother's  room  being 
in  the  south  gable,  I  was  born,  as  you  may  say,  in  the 
land  of  cotton,  and  consequently  in  my  bright  Southern 
lexicon  the  word  nigger  is  defined  as  meaning  anything 
black  or  brown.  I  think  I  said  that  Prana  is  on  the 
west  coast,  and  that  may  have  misled  you.  But  Africa 
isn't  the  only  God-forsaken  place  that  has  a  west  coast; 
how  about  Staten  Island  ? 

Malaysian  houses  are  built  mostly  of  reed  and  thatch 
work  standing  in  shallow  water  on  bamboo  stalks, 
highly  inflammable  and  subject  to  alterations  by  a 
blunt  pocket-knife.  So  a  favorite  device  for  holding 
a  man  prisoner  is  a  hole  in  the  ground  too  deep  and 
sheer  for  him  to  climb  out  of.  That's  why  I'd  brought 
a  length  of  knotted  rope.  The  dynamite  was  instead 
of  men,  which  we  hadn't  means  to  hire  or  transport, 
and  who  wouldn't  have  landed  on  that  beach  any 
how,  unless  drowned  and  washed  up.  Now  dynamite 
wouldn't  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  round  your  club 
or  your  favorite  restaurant;  but  in  some  parts  of  the 
world  it  makes  the  best  company.  It  will  speak  up 
for  you  on  occasion  louder  than  your  best  friend,  and 
it  gives  you  the  feeling  of  being  Jove  with  a  handful  of 
thunderbolts.  My  plan  was  to  find  in  what  settle 
ment  there  was  the  most  likely  prisoner,  drive  the  in 
habitants  off  for  two  or  three  days — one  blast  would  do 

11 


IT 

that,  I  calculated  (especially  if  preceded  and  followed 
by  blowings  on  a  pocket  siren) — let  my  rope  down 
into  his  well,  lift  the  treasure  with  him,  and  get  away 
with  it. 

This  was  a  straight  ahead  job — except  for  the  god. 
And  in  daylight  it  didn't  seem  as  if  It  could  be  such  an 
awful  devil  of  a  god.  But  It  did  have  the  deuce  of  a 
funny  spoor,  as  I  made  haste  to  find  out.  The  thing 
had  five  toes,  like  a  man,  which  was  a  relief.  But 
unlike  nigger  feet,  the  thumb  toe  and  the  index  weren't 
spread.  The  thumb  bent  sharply  inward,  and  mixed 
its  pad  mark  with  that  of  the  index.  Furthermore, 
though  the  impress  of  the  toes  was  very  deep  (down- 
slanting  like  a  man  walking  on  tiptoe),  the  heel  marks 
were  also  very  deep,  and  between  toe  and  heel  marks 
there  were  no  other  marks  at  all.  In  other  words, 
the  thing's  feet  must  have  been  arched  like  a  croquet 
wicket.  And  It's  heels  were  not  rounded;  they  were 
perfectly  round — absolute  circles  they  were,  about  the 
diameter  of  the  smallest  sized  cans  in  which  Capstan 
tobacco  is  sold.  If  ever  a  wooden  idol  had  stopped 
squatting  and  gone  out  for  a  stroll  on  a  beach,  it  would 
have  left  just  such  a  track.  Only  it  might  not  have 
felt  that  it  had  to  take  such  peculiarly  long  steps. 

My  knoll  being  near  the  south  end  of  Prana  Beach 
(pure  patriotism  I  assure  you),  my  village  hunts  must 
be  to  the  northward.  I  had  one  good  hunt,  the  first 

12 


IT 

day,  and  I  got  near  some  sort  of  a  village,  a  jungle  one 
built  over  a  pool,  as  I  found  afterward.  The  reason 
I  gave  up  looking  that  day  was  because  the  god  got 
between  me  and  where  I  was  trying  to  get;  burst  out 
humming,  you  might  say,  right  in  my  face,  though  I 
couldn't  see  It,  and  directly  I  had  turned  and  was  tip 
toeing  quietly  away  (I  remember  how  the  tree  trunks 
looked  like  teeth  in  a  comb,  or  the  nearest  railroad  ties 
from  the  window  of  an  express  train),  It  set  up  the 
most  passionate,  vindictive,  triumphant  vocal  fireworks 
ever  heard  out  of  hell.  It  made  black  noises  like 
Niagara  Falls,  and  white  noises  higher  than  Pike's 
Peak.  It  made  leaps,  lighting  on  tones  as  a  car 
penter's  hammer  lights  on  nails.  It  ran  up  and  down 
the  major  and  minor  diatonics,  up  and  down  the  chro 
matic,  with  the  speed  and  fury  of  a  typhoon,  and  the 
attention  to  detail  of  Paderewski — at  his  best,  when 
he  makes  the  women  faint — and  with  the  power  and 
volume  of  a  church  organ  with  all  the  stops  pulled  out. 
It  shook  and  It  trilled  and  It  quavered,  and  It  gargled 
as  if  It  had  a  barrel  of  glycothermoline  in  It's  mouth 
and  had  been  exposed  to  diphtheria,  and  It  finished — 
just  as  I  tripped  on  a  snake  and  fell — with  a  round  bar 
of  high  C  sound,  that  lasted  a  good  minute  (or  until 
I  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  where  I  had  fallen), 
and  was  the  color  of  butter,  and  could  have  been  cut 
with  a  knife.  And  It  stopped  short — biff — just  as  if 
It  had  been  chopped  off. 

13 


IT 

That  was  the  end  of  my  village  hunting.  Let  the 
prisoner  of  Prana  Beach  drown  in  his  hole  when  the 
rains  come,  let  his  treasure  remain  unlifted  till  Gabriel 
blows  his  trumpet;  but  let  yours  truly  bask  in  the 
shade  of  the  beach  ebony,  hidden  from  view,  and  for 
tified  by  dynamite — until  the  satin  wood  shallop  should 
see  fit  to  return  and  take  him  off. 

Except  for  a  queer  dream  (queer  because  of  the 
time  a»nd  place,  and  because  there  seemed  absolutely 
nothing  to  suggest  it  to  the  mind  asleep),  I  put  in  six 
hours'  solid  sleep.  In  my  dream  I  was  in  Lombardy 
in  a  dark  loft  where  there  were  pears  laid  out  to  ripen; 
and  we  were  frightened  and  had  to  keep  creepy-mouse 
still — because  the  father  had  come  home  sooner  than 
was  expected,  and  was  milking  his  goats  in  the  stable 
under  the  loft,  and  singing,  which  showed  that  he  was 
in  liquor,  and  not  his  usual  affable,  bland  self.  I  could 
hear  him  plainly  in  my  dream,  tearing  the  heart  out 
of  that  old  folk-song  called  La  Smortina— "  The  Pale 
Girl": 

"1"  ho  la  scia  to  e  son  contento 
Non  m'in  cresca  niente,  niente 
Altro  giovine  hogia  in  mente 
Pin  belino  assai  di  te." 

And  I  woke  up  tingling  with  the  remembered  fear 
(it  was  a  mixed  feeling,  half  fright,  and  half  an  insane 
desire  to  burst  out  laughing  to  see  what  the  old  man 

14 


IT 

would  do),  and  I  looked  over  the  rim  of  my  hat,  and 
there  walking  toward  me,  in  the  baby-blue  and  pink 
of  the  bright  dawn  (but  a  big  way  off),  came  a  strag 
gling  line  of  naked  niggers,  headed  by  the  It-god,  Itself. 

One  look  told  me  that,  one  look  at  a  great  bulk  of 
scarletness,  that  walked  upright  like  a  man.  I  didn't 
look  twice,  I  scuttled  out  to  my  nearest  mine,  lighted 
the  fuse,  tumbled  back  into  the  hollow,  fingers  in  ears, 
face  screwed  up  as  tight  as  a  face  can  be  screwed,  and 
waited. 

When  it  was  over,  and  things  had  stopped  falling, 
I  looked  out  again.  The  tropic  dawn  remained  as 
before,  but  the  immediate  landscape  was  somewhat 
altered  for  the  worse,  and  in  the  distance  were  neither 
niggers  nor  the  god.  It  is  possible  that  I  stuck  my 
thumbs  into  my  armpits  and  waggled  my  fingers.  I 
don't  remember.  But  it's  no  mean  sensation  to  have 
pitted  yourself  against  a  strange  god,  with  perfectly 
round  heels,  and  to  have  won  out. 

About  noon,  though,  the  god  came  back,  fortified 
perhaps  by  reflection,  and  more  certainly  by  a  nigger 
who  walked  behind  him  with  a  spear.  You've  seen 
the  donkey  boys  in  Cairo  make  the  donkeys  trot? 
.  .  .  This  time  I  put  my  trust  in  the  Colt  forty-five; 
and  looked  the  god  over,  as  he  came  reluctantly  nearer 
and  nearer,  singing  a  magic. 

Do  you  know  the  tragedian  walk  as  taken  off  on  the 
15 


IT 

comic  opera  stage,  the  termination  of  each  strutting, 
dragging  step  accentuated  by  cymbals  smashed  to 
gether  F-F-F?  That  was  how  the  god  walked.  He 
was  all  in  scarlet,  with  a  long  feather  sticking  straight 
up  from  a  scarlet  cap.  And  the  magic  he  sang  (now 
that  you  knew  the  sounds  he  made  were  those  of  a 
tenor  voice,  you  knew  that  it  was  a  glorious  tenor  voice) 
was  a  magic  out  of  "Aida."  It  was  the  magic  that 
what's-his-name  sings  when  he  is  appointed  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  all  the  Egyptian  forces.  Now  the 
niggers  may  have  thought  that  their  god's  magics 
were  stronger  than  my  dynamite.  But  the  god,  though 
very,  very  simple,  was  not  so  simple  as  that.  He  was 
an  Italian  colored  man,  black  bearded,  and  shaped 
like  Caruso,  only  more  so,  if  that  is  possible;  and  he 
sang,  because  he  was  a  singing  machine,  but  he  couldn't 
have  talked.  I'll  bet  on  that.  He  was  too  plumb 
afraid. 

When  he  reached  the  hole  that  the  dynamite  had 
made  in  the  landscape — I  showed  myself;  trying  to 
look  as  much  like  a  dove  of  peace  as  possible. 

"  Come  on  alone,"  I  called  in  Italian,  "  and  have  a 
bite  of  lunch." 

That  stopped  his  singing,  but  I  had  to  repeat.  Well 
he  had  an  argument  with  the  nigger,  that  finished  with 
all  the  gestures  that  two  monkeys  similarly  situated 
would  have  made  at  each  other,  and  after  a  time  the 

16 


IT 

nigger  sat  down,  and  the  god  came  on  alone,  puffing 
and  indignant. 

We  talked  in  Dago,  but  I'll  give  the  English  of  it, 
so's  not  to  appear  to  be  showing  off. 

"Who  and  what  in  the  seventh  circle  of  hell  are 
you?"  I  asked. 

He  seemed  offended  that  I  should  not  have  known. 
But  he  gave  his  name,  sure  of  his  effect.  "Signer 

"  and  the  name  sounded  like  that  tower  in  Venice 

that  fell  down  the  other  day. 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  I  exclaimed  joyfully.  "Be 
seated,"  and,  I  added,  being  silly  with  joy  and  relief 
at  having  my  awful  devil  turn  into  a  silly  child — "  there 
may  be  some  legacy — though  trifling." 

Well,  he  sat  down,  and  stuck  his  short,  immense 
hirsute  legs  out,  all  comfy,  and  I,  remembering  the 
tracks  on  the  beach,  had  a  look  at  his  feet.  And  I 
turned  crimson  with  suppressed  laughter.  He  had 
wooden  cylinders  three  inches  high  strapped  to  his 
bare  heels.  They  made  him  five  feet  five  inches  high 
instead  of  five  feet  two.  They  were  just  such  heels 
(only  clumsier  and  made  of  wood  instead  of  cork 
and  crimson  morocco  or  silk)  as  Siegfried  wears  for 
mountain  climbing,  dragon  fighting,  or  other  deeds 
of  derring-do.  And  with  these  heels  to  guide  me,  I 
sighed,  and  said: 

"  Signer  Recent-Venetian-Tower,  you  have  the  most 
17 


IT 

beautiful  pure  golden  tenor  voice  that  I  have  ever 
heard  in  my  life." 

Have  you  ever  been  suddenly  embraced  by  a  pile- 
driver,  and  kissed  on  both  cheeks  by  a  blacking-brush  ? 
I  have.  Then  he  held  me  by  the  shoulders  at  arm's 
length,  and  looked  me  in  the  eyes  as  if  I  had  been  a 
long-lost  son  returned  at  last.  Then  he  gathered  a 
kiss  in  his  ringer  tips  and  flung  it  to  the  heavens.  Then 
he  asked  if  by  any  chance  I  had  any  spaghetti  with 
me.  He  cried  when  I  said  that  I  had  not;  but  quietly, 
not  harassingly.  And  then  we  got  down  to  real  busi 
ness,  and  found  out  about  each  other. 

He  was  the  prisoner  of  Prana  Beach.  The  treas 
ure  that  he  had  to  share  with  his  rescuer  was  his  voice. 
Two  nights  a  week  during  the  season,  at  two  thousand 
a  night.  But —  There  was  a  great  big  But. 

Signer  What-I-said-before,  his  voice  weakened  by 
pneumonia,  had  taken  a  long  travelling  holiday  to  rest 
up.  But  his  voice,  instead  of  coming  back,  grew 
weaker  and  weaker,  driving  him  finally  into  a  suicidal 
artistic  frenzy,  during  which  he  put  on  his  full  suit  of 
evening  clothes,  a  black  pearl  shirt  stud,  a  tall  silk 
hat,  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  flung  himself  from  the 
stern  of  a  P.  &  O.  boat  into  the  sea.  He  had  no 
knowledge  of  swimming  and  expected  to  drown  at 
once.  But  he  was  not  built  for  drowning.  The 
laws  of  buoyancy  and  displacement  caused  him  to 

18 


IT 

float  upon  bis  back,  high  out  of  the  water,  like  an 
empty  barrel.  Nor  was  the  water  into  which  he  had 
fallen  as  tepid  as  he  had  expected.  From  his  de 
scription,  with  its  accompaniment  of  shudderings  and 
shiverings,  the  temperature  must  have  been  as  low 
as  80°  Fahrenheit,  which  is  pretty  sharp  for  dagoes. 
Anyhow,  the  double  shock  of  the  cold  and  of  not 
drowning  instantly  acted  on  his  vocal  chords.  With 
out  even  trying,  he  said,  he  knew  that  his  voice  had 
come  back.  Picture  the  poor  man's  despair — over 
board  in  the  ocean,  wanting  to  die  because  he  had 
nothing  to  live  for,  and  suddenly  discovering  that  he 
had  everything  to  live  for.  He  asserts  that  he  actu 
ally  forgot  the  cold,  and  thought  only  of  how  to 
preserve  that  glorious  instrument,  his  voice;  not  for 
himself  but  for  mankind.  But  he  could  not  think 
out  a  way,  and  he  asserted  that  a  passion  of  vain 
weeping  and  delirium,  during  which  he  kicked  him 
self  warm,  was  followed  by  a  noble  and  godlike 
calm,  during  which,  lying  as  easily  upon  the  sea  as  on 
a  couch,  and  inspired  by  the  thought  that  some  ear 
might  catch  the  notes  and  die  the  happier  for  it,  he 
lifted  his  divine  voice  and  sang  a  swan  song.  After 
that  he  sang  twenty-nine  others.  And  then,  in  the 
very  midst  of  La  Bella  Napoli,  with  which  he  in 
tended  to  close  (fearing  to  strain  his  voice  if  he  sang 
any  more),  he  thought  of  sharks, 

19 


IT 

Spurred  by  that  thought,  he  claims  to  have  kicked 
and  beaten  with  his  hands  until  he  was  insensible. 
Otherwise,  he  would,  he  said,  have  continued  to  float 
about  placidly,  singing  swan  songs  at  intervals  until, 
at  last,  thinned  by  starvation  to  the  sinking  point,  he 
would  have  floated  no  more. 

To  shorten  up.  Signor  You-know-what,  either  ow 
ing  to  his  struggles,  or  to  the  sea  breeze  pressing  against 
his  stomach,  came  ashore  on  Prana  Beach;  was 
pounced  upon  by  the  niggers,  stripped  of  his  glad  rags 
(the  topper  had  been  lost  in  the  shuffle),  and  dropped 
into  a  hole  eight  feet  deep,  for  safe-keeping.  It  was 
in  this  hole,  buried  in  sand,  that  he  found  the  flask  I 
have  told  you  about.  Well,  one  day,  for  he  had  a  bit 
of  talent  that  way,  he  fell  to  sketching  on  his  legs,  knees, 
upper  thigh  and  left  forearm,  using  for  ink  something 
black  that  they  had  given  him  for  breakfast.  That 
night  it  rained;  but  next  morning  his  drawings  were  as 
black  and  sharp  as  when  he  had  made  them;  this, 
coupled  with  the  flask,  furnished  him  with  an  idea,  a 
very  forlorn  and  hopeless  one,  but  an  idea  for  all  that. 
He  had,  however,  nothing  to  write  his  C  Q  D  on  but 
himself,  none  of  which  (for  he  held  himself  in  trust  for 
his  Maker  as  a  complete  whole,  he  explained)  he  in 
tended  to  part  with. 

It  was  in  trying  to  climb  out  of  the  hole  that  he  tore 
a  flap  of  skin  from  his  left  thigh  just  above  the  knee, 

20 


IT 

clean  off,  except  for  one  thread  by  which  it  hung.  In 
less  than  two  days  he  had  screwed  up  his  courage  to 
breaking  that  thread  with  a  sudden  jerk.  He  cured 
his  bit  of  hide  in  a  novel  way.  Every  morning  he 
cried  on  it,  and  when  the  tears  had  dried,  leaving  their 
minute  residue  of  salt,  he  would  work  the  raw  skin 
with  his  thumb  and  a  bit  of  stick  he  had  found.  Then 
a  nigger  boy,  one  beast  of  a  hot  day,  lowered  him  a 
gourd  of  sea-water  as  a  joke,  and  Signor  What-we- 
agreed-on,  made  salt  of  that  while  the  sun  shone,  and 
finished  his  job  of  tanning. 

The  next  time  he  was  given  a  black  breakfast,  he 
wrote  his  hurry-call  message  and  corked  it  into  the 
flask.  And  there  only  remained  the  somewhat  hercu 
lean  task  of  getting  that  flask  flung  into  the  sea. 

You'll  never  believe  how  it  got  there  finally.  But 
I'll  tell  you  for  all  that.  A  creek  flowed  near  the 
dungeon  in  which  the  famous  tenor  was  incarcerated. 
And  one  night  of  cloud-burst  that  creek  burst  its  cere 
ments,  banks  I  mean,  filled  the  singing  man's  prison 
in  two  jerks  of  a  lamb's  tail,  and  floated  both  him  and 
his  flask  out  of  it.  He  grounded  as  usual,  but  the  flask 
must  have  been  rushed  down  to  the  sea.  For  in  the 
sea  it  was  found,  calmly  bobbing,  and  less  than  two 
years  later.  A  nigger  fisherman  found  it,  and  gave  it 
to  me,  in  exchange  for  a  Waterbury  watch.  He  tried 
to  make  me  take  his  daughter  instead,  but  I  wouldn't. 

21 


IT 

Signer  What-you-would-forget-if-I-told-you  wasn't 
put  back  in  his  dungeon  till  the  rainy  season  was  at 
an  end.  Instead  he  was  picketed.  A  rope  ran  from 
his  wrists,  which  were  tied  behind  his  back,  and  was 
inserted  through  the  handles  (it  had  a  pair  of  them 
like  ears  just  above  the  trunnions)  of  a  small  bronze 
cannon,  that  had  Magellan's  name  and  the  arms  of 
Spain  engraved  around  the  touch-hole.  And  thus 
picketed,  he  was  rained  on,  joked  on,  and  abused  until 
dry  weather.  Then,  it  was  the  first  happiness  that  he 
had  had  among  them,  they  served  him  one  day  with 
a  new  kind  of  fish  that  had  begun  to  run  in  the  creek. 
It  tasted  like  Carlton  sole,  he  said.  And  it  made  him 
feel  so  good  that,  being  quite  by  himself  and  the  morn 
ing  blue  and  warm,  he  began,  sitting  on  his  little  can 
non,  to  hum  an  aria.  Further  inspirited  by  his  own 
tunefulness,  he  rose  (and  of  course  struck  an  attitude) 
and  opened  his  mouth  and  sang. 

Oh,  how  good  it  was  to  hear — as  he  put  it  himself 
— after  all  those  months  of  silence! 

Well,  the  people  he  belonged  to  came  running  up 
with  eyes  like  saucers  and  mouths  open,  and  they 
squatted  at  his  feet  in  a  semicircle,  and  women  came 
and  children.  They  had  wonder  in  their  faces  and 
fear.  Last  came  the  old  chief,  who  was  too  old  to 
walk,  and  was  carried  always  in  a  chair  which  two  of 
his  good-natured  sons-in-law  made  with  their  hands. 

22 


IT 

And  the  old  chief,  when  he  had  listened  awhile  with 
his  little  bald  monkey  head  cocked  on  one  side,  signed 
to  be  put  down.  And  he  stood  on  his  feet  and  walked. 
And  he  took  out  a  little  khris  and  walked  over  to  the 
Divo,  and  cut  the  ropes  that  bound  him,  and  knelt 
before  him  and  kowtowed,  and  pressed  the  late  prison 
er's  toes  with  his  forehead.  Then — and  this  was  ter 
ribly  touching,  my  informant  said,  and  reminded  him  of 
St.  Petersburg — one  of  the  old  chiefs  granddaughters, 
a  little  brown  slip  of  a  girl,  slender  and  shapely  as  a 
cigar,  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  hung — just 
hung.  When  they  tried  to  get  her  away  she  kicked  at 
them,  but  she  never  so  much  as  once  changed  the  ex 
pression  of  her  upturned  face,  which  was  one  of  adora 
tion.  Well,  the  people  hollered  and  made  drums  of 
their  cheeks  and  beat  on  them,  and  the  first  thing 
Signer  Recent-Disaster  knew  he  was  being  dressed  in  a 
scarlet  coat  that  had  belonged^to  a  British  colonel  dead 
this  hundred  years.  The  girl  by  now  had  had  to  let 
go  and  had  dropped  at  his  feet  like  a  ripe  guava — and 
he  was  being  ushered  into  the  largest  bamboo-legged 
house  that  the  place  boasted,  and  told  as  plainly  as 
round  eyes,  gesticulations,  and  moans  can,  that  the 
house  was  his  to  enjoy.  Then  they  began  to  give  him 
things.  First  his  own  dress  suit,  ruined  by  sea- water 
and  shrinking,  his  formerly  boiled  shirt,  his  red  silk 
underwear  still  wearable,  his  black  pearl  stud  and 

23 


IT 

every  stiver  of  gold,  silver,  copper,  and  English  bank 
notes  that  had  been  found  in  his  pockets.  They  gave 
him  knives,  rough  silver  bangles,  heaps  of  elaborate 
mats,  a  handful  of  rather  disappointing  pearls,  a  scar 
let  head-dress  with  a  feather  that  had  been  a  famous 
chiefs,  a  gun  without  a  lock,  and,  what  pleased  him 
most  (must  have),  a  bit  of  looking-glass  big  enough  to 
see  half  of  his  face  in  at  a  time.  They  allowed  him  to 
choose  his  own  house-keeper;  and,  although  several 
beauties  were  knocked  down  in  the  ensuing  riot,  he 
managed  to  satisfy  them  that  his  unalterable  choice 
rested  upon  the  little  lady  who  had  been  the  most  con 
vincing  in  her  recognition  of  his  genius,  and — what's 
the  line  ? — "  Hang  there  like  fruit,  my  soul,  till  the  tree 
die." 

Well,  he  offered  to  put  me  up,  and  show  me  how  the 
gods  keep  house.  I  counter-offered  to  keep  him  with 
me,  by  force  of  dynamite,  carry  him  back  to  civiliza 
tion,  and  go  shares  on  his  voice,  as  per  circular.  And 
this  is  where  the  big  But  comes  in.  My  offer  was 
pestilential;  he  shunned  it. 

"You  shall  have  my  black  pearl  stud  for  your 
trouble,"  he  said.  "I  bought  her  years  ago  in  a 
pawnshop  at  Aix.  But  me — no.  I  have  found  my 
niche,  and  my  temple.  But  you  shall  be  the  judge  of 
that." 

"You  don't  want  to  escape?" 
24 


IT 

His  mouth  curled  in  scorn  at  the  very  idea. 

"Try  to  think  of  how  much  spaghetti  you  could 
buy  for  a  song." 

His  eyes  and  mouth  twitched.  But  he  sighed,  and 
shook  his  head. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  "  when  you  demonstrated 
against  us  with  your  dynamite  it  was  instantly  con 
cluded  that  you  were  some  new  kind  of  a  god  come  to 
inhabit  the  beach.  It  was  proposed  that  I  go  against 
you  singing  a  charm  that  should  drive  you  away. 
But,  as  you  saw,  I  came  only  at  the  spear's  point. 
Do  you  think  I  was  afraid?  I  was;  but  not  of  your 
godship.  I  had  seen  your  tracks,  I  had  seen  the  beach 
rise  to  your  explosive,  and  I  knew  that  as  one  Christian 
gentleman  I  had  nothing  on  the  lines  of  violence  to  fear 
from  another.  Your  explosion  was  like  a  note,  ask 
ing  me  when  I  should  next  call  to  bring  fewer  attend 
ants.  I  was  afraid;  I  was  afraid  that  you  were  not 
one,  alone,  but  several,  and  that  you  would  compel  me 
to  return  with  you  to  a  world  in  which,  take  it  for  all 
and  all,  the  good  things,  such  as  restaurants,  artificial 
heat,  Havana  cigars,  and  Steinway  pianos,  are  nulli 
fied  by  climatic  conditions  unsuited  to  vocal  chords, 
fatal  jealousies  among  members  of  the  same  artistic 
professions,  and  a  public  that  listens  but  does  not  hear; 
or  that  hears  and  does  not  listen.  But  you  shall  stop 
with  me  a  few  days,  in  my  house.  You  shall  see  for 

25 


IT 

yourself  that  among  all  artists  I  alone  enjoy  an  appre 
ciation  and  solicitude  that  are  better  than  gold." 

Signor  Shall-we-let-it-go-at-that  had  not  lied  to  me. 
And  all  he  asked  was,  with  many  apologies,  that  I 
should  treat  him  with  a  certain  reverence,  a  little  as  if 
he  were  a  conqueror.  So  all  the  way  to  the  village  I 
walked  two  paces  right  flank  rear,  and  wore  a  solemn 
and  subdued  expression.  My  host  approached  the 
dwellings  of  his  people  with  an  exaggeration  of  tragi 
comic  stride,  dragging  his  high-heeled  feet  as  Henry 
Irving  used,  raising  and  advancing  his  chest  to  the 
bursting  point,  and  holding  his  head  so  proudly  that 
the  perpendicular  feather  of  his  cap  leaned  backward 
at  a  sharp  angle.  With  his  scarlet  soldier's  coat,  all 
burst  along  the  seams,  and  not  meeting  by  a  yard  over 
his  red  silk  undershirt,  with  his  bit  of  broken  mirror 
dangling  at  his  waist  like  a  lady's  jewelled  "vanity 
set"  with  his  china-ink  black  mustache  and  superb 
beard,  he  presented  for  all  the  purposes  of  the  time 
and  place  an  appearance  in  keeping  with  the  magnifi 
cence  of  his  voice  and  of  his  dreams. 

When  we  got  among  the  houses,  from  which  came  a 
great  peeping  of  shy  eyes,  the  Signor  suddenly  raised 
his  fingers  to  his  throat  and  sounded  a  shocking 
b-r-rr-rrr  of  alarm  and  anxiety.  Then  there  arose  a 
murmur,  almost  pitiful  it  was  so  heartfelt,  as  of  bees 
who  fear  an  irreparable  tragedy  in  the  hive.  The  old 

26 


IT 

chief  came  out  of  the  council-house  upon  the  hands  of 
his  good-natured  sons-in-law,  and  he  was  full  of  ten 
derness  and  concern.  I  saw  my  friend  escorted  into 
his  own  dwelling  by  ladies  who  sighed  and  commis 
erated.  But  already  the  call  for  help  had  reached 
the  tenor's  slip  of  a  wife;  and  she,  with  hands  that 
shook,  was  preparing  a  compress  of  leaves  that  smelt 
of  cinnamon  and  cloves.  I,  too,  showed  solicitude, 
and  timidly  helped  my  conqueror  to  the  heaped  mats 
upon  which  he  was  wont  to  recline  in  the  heat  of  the 
day.  He  had  made  himself  a  pair  of  very  round 
terrified  eyes,  and  he  had  not  taken  the  compress 
from  his  throat.  But  he  spoke  quietly,  and  as  one 
possessed  of  indomitable  fortitude.  In  Malay  he 
told  his  people  that  it  was  "nothing,  just  a  little — 
brrr — soreness  and  thickening,"  and  he  let  slip  such 
a  little  moan  as  monkeys  make.  To  me  he  spoke  in 
Italian. 

"I  shall  have  to  submit  to  a  bandage,"  said  he. 
"But  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  my  throat" 
(slight  monkey  moan  here  for  benefit  of  adorers),  "  ab 
solutely  nothing.  I  have  invented  a  slight  soreness 
so — so  that  you  could  see  for  yourself  ...  so  that 
you  could  see  for  yourself.  ...  If  you  were  to  count 
those  here  assembled  and  those  assembled  without, 
you  would  number  our  entire  population,  including 
children  and  babes  in  arms"  (a  slight  moan  while  com- 

27 


IT 

press  is  being  readjusted  over  Adam's  apple  by  gentle, 
tremulous  brown  fingers),  "and  among  these,  my 
friend,  are  no  dissenters.  There  is  none  here  to  stand 
forth  and  say  that  on  Tuesday  night  Signer  And-he- 
pronounced-it's  singing  was  lacking  in  those  golden 
tones  for  which  we  used  to  look  to  him.  His  voice, 
indeed,  is  but  a  skeleton  of  its  former  self,  and  shall 
we  say  that  the  public  must  soon  tire  of  a  singer  with 
so  pronounced  a  tendency  to  flat  ? 

"Here  in  this  climate,"  he  continued,  "my  voice 
by  dint  of  constant  and  painstaking  care  and  practice 
has  actually  improved.  I  should  not  have  said  that 
this  was  possible;  but  a  man  must  believe  experience 
.  .  .  And  then  these  dear,  amiable  people  are  one  in 
their  acclaim  of  me;  although  I  sometimes  grieve,  not 
for  myself,  but  for  them,  to  think  that  they  can  never 
really  know  what  they've  got.  .  .  ." 

I  sometimes  wonder  how  the  god  of  Prana  Beach 
will  be  treated  when  he  begins  to  age  and  to  lose  his 
voice.  It  worries  me — a  little. 

The  black  pearl  stud  ?  Of  course  not,  you  wretched 
materialist.  I  sold  it  in  the  first  good  market  I  came 
to.  No  good  ever  came  of  material  possessions,  and 
always  much  payment  of  storage  bills.  But  I  have  a 
collection  of  memories  that  I  am  fond  of. 

Still,  on  second  thought,  and  if  I  had  the  knack  of 
28 


IT 

setting  them  straight  on  paper,  I'd  part  even  with 
them  for  a  consideration,  especially  if  I  felt  that  I 
could  reach  such  an  appreciative  audience  as  that  of 
Prana  Beach,  which  sits  upon  its  heels  in  worship  and 
humility  and  listens  to  the  divine  fireworks  of  Signor 
I-have-forgotten-too. 


29 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

They  engaged  themselves  to  be  married  when  they 
were  so  young  they  couldn't  tell  anybody  about  it 
for  fear  of  being  laughed  at;  and  if  I  mentioned  their 
years  to  you,  you  would  laugh  at  me.  They  thought 
they  were  full-grown,  but  they  weren't  even  that. 
When  they  were  finally  married  they  couldn't  either 
of  them  have  worn  the  clothes  they  got  engaged  in. 
The  day  they  got  engaged  they  wore  suits  made  of 
white  woollen  blankets,  white  knitted  toques,  and  white 
knitted  sashes.  It  was  because  they  were  dressed 
exactly  alike  that  they  first  got  excited  about  each 
other.  And  Cynthia  said:  "You  look  just  like  a 
snowman."  And  G.  G. — which  was  his  strange 
name — said:  "You  look  just  like  a  snowbird." 

G.  G.  was  in  Saranac  for  his  health.  Cynthia  had 
come  up  for  the  holidays  to  skate  and  to  skee  and  to 
coast,  and  to  get  herself  engaged  before  she  was  full- 
grown  to  a  boy  who  was  so  delicate  that  climate  was 
more  important  for  him  than  education.  They  met 
first  at  the  rink.  And  it  developed  that  if  you  crossed 
hands  with  G.  G.  and  skated  with  him  you  skated 
almost  as  well  as  he  did.  He  could  teach  a  girl  to 

33 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

waltz  in  five  minutes;  and  he  had  a  radiant  laugh  that 
almost  moved  you  to  tears  when  you  went  to  bed  at 
night  and  got  thinking  about  it.  Cynthia  had  never 
seen  a  boy  with  such  a  beautiful  round  head  and  such 
beautiful  white  teeth  and  such  bright  red  cheeks. 
She  always  said  that  she  loved  him  long  before  he 
loved  her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  happened  to  them 
both  right  away.  'As  one  baby,  unabashed  and  de 
termined,  embraces  a  strange  baby — and  is  embraced 
— so,  from  their  first  meeting  in  the  great  cold  stillness 
of  the  North  Woods,  their  young  hearts  snuggled 
together. 

G.  G.  was  different  from  other  boys.  To  begin 
with,  he  had  been  born  at  sea.  Then  he  had  lived 
abroad  and  learned  the  greatest  quantity  of  foreign 
languages  and  songs.  Then  he  had  tried  a  New 
England  boarding-school  and  had  been  hurt  playing 
games  he  was  too  frail  to  play.  And  doctors  had 
stethoscoped  him  and  shaken  their  heads  over  him. 
And  after  that  there  was  much  naming  of  names  which, 
instead  of  frightening  him,  were  magic  to  his  ear — 
Arizona,  California,  Saranac — but,  because  G.  G/s 
father  was  a  professional  man  and  perfectly  square 
and  honest,  there  wasn't  enough  money  to  send  G.  G. 
far  from  New  York  and  keep  him  there  and  visit  him 
every  now  and  then.  So  Saranac  was  the  place  chosen 
for  him  to  get  well  in;  and  it  seemed  a  little  hard,  be- 

34 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

cause  there  was  almost  as  much  love  of  sunshine  and 
warmth  and  flowers  and  music  in  G.  G.  as  there  was 
patience  and  courage. 

The  day  they  went  skeeing  together — which  was  the 
day  after  they  had  skated  together — he  told  Cynthia  all 
about  himself,  very  simply  and  naturally,  as  a  gentle 
man  farmer  should  say:  "This  is  the  dairy;  this  is 
the  blacksmith  shop;  this  is  the  chicken  run."  And 
the  next  day,  very  early,  when  they  stood  knee-deep 
in  snow,  armed  with  shot-guns  and  waiting  for  some 
dogs  that  thought  they  were  hounds  to  drive  rabbits 
for  them  to  shoot  at,  he  told  her  that  nothing  mattered 
so  long  as  you  were  happy  and  knew  that  you  were 
happy,  because  when  these  two  stars  came  into  con 
junction  you  were  bound  to  get  well. 

A  rabbit  passed.  And  G.  G.  laid  his  mitten  upon 
his  lips  and  shook  his  head;  and  he  whispered: 

"  I  wouldn't  shoot  one  for  anything  in  the  world. " 

And  she  said:   "Neither  would  I." 

Then  she  said:  "If  you  don't  shoot  why  did  you 
come?" 

"Oh,  Miss  Snowbird,"  he  said,  "don't  I  look  why  I 
came?  Do  I  have  to  say  it?" 

He  looked  and  she  looked.  And  their  feet  were 
getting  colder  every  moment  and  their  hearts  warmer. 
Then  G.  G.  laughed  aloud — bright,  sudden  music  in 
the  forest.  Snow,  balanced  to  the  fineness  of  a  hair, 

35 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

fell  from  the  bowed  limbs  of  trees.  Then  there  was 
such  stillness  as  may  be  in  Paradise  when  souls  go  up 
to  the  throne  to  be  forgiven.  Then,  far  off,  one  dog 
that  thought  he  was  a  hound  began  to  yap  and  thought 
he  was  belling;  but  still  G.  G.  looked  into  the  snow 
bird's  eyes  and  she  into  his,  deeper  and  deeper,  until 
neither  had  any  secret  of  soul  from  the  other.  So, 
upon  an  altar  cloth,  two  wax  candles  burn  side  by  side, 
with  clear,  pure  light. 

Cynthia  had  been  well  brought  up,  but  she  came  of 
rich,  impatient  stock,  and  never  until  the  present  mo 
ment  had  she  thought  very  seriously  about  God.  Now, 
however,  when  she  saw  the  tenderness  there  was  in 
G.  G.'s  eyes  and  the  smile  of  serene  joyousness  that 
was  upon  his  lips,  she  remembered  the  saying  that 
God  has  made  man — and  boys — in  His  image — and 
understood  what  it  meant. 

She  said:   "I  know  why  you  think  you've  come." 

"Think?  "he  said.     "Think!" 

And  then  the  middle  ends  of  his  eyebrows  rose — all 
tender  and  quizzical;  and  with  one  mitten  he  clutched 
at  his  breast — just  over  his  heart.  And  he  said: 

"If  only  I  could  get  it  out  I  would  give  it  to  you  I" 

Cynthia,  too,  began  to  look  melting  tender  and 
wondrous  quizzical;  and  she  bent  her  right  arm  for 
ward  and  plucked  at  its  sleeve  as  if  she  were  looking 
for  something.  Then,  in  a  voice  of  dismay: 

36 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"Only  three  days  ago  it  was  still  there,"  she  said; 
"and  now  it's  gone — I've  lost  it." 

"Oh!"  said  G.  G.  "You  don't  suspect  me  of  hav 
ing  purloined — "  His  voice  broke. 

"We're  only  kids,"  said  Cynthia. 

"Yes,"  said  he;   "but  you're  the  dearest  kid!" 

"Since  you've  taken  my  heart,"  said  she,  "you'll  not 
want  to  give  it  back,  will  you?  I  think  that  would 
break  it." 

"I  oughtn't  to  have  taken  it!"  said  G.  G. 

And  then  on  his  face  she  saw  the  first  shadow  that 
ever  he  had  let  her  see  of  doubt  and  of  misgiving. 

"Listen!"  he  said.  "My  darling!  I  think  that  I 
shall  get  well.  ...  I  think  that,  once  I  am  well,  I 
shall  be  able  to  work  very  hard.  I  have  nothing.  I 
love  you  so  that  I  think  even  angels  don't  want  to  do 
right  more  than  I  do.  Is  that  anything  to  offer  ?  Not 
very  much." 

"  Nobody  in  all  the  world,"  said  she,  "  will  ever  have 
the  chance  to  offer  me  anything  else — just  because  I'm 
a  kid  doesn't  mean  that  I  don't  know  the  look  of  for 
ever  when  I  see  it." 

"  Is  it  really  forever  ?  "  he  said.     "  For  you  too  ?  " 

"For  me— surely!" 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "what  shall  I  think  of  to  promise 
you?" 

His  face  was  a  flash  of  ecstasy. 
37 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"You  don't  even  have  to  promise  that  you  will  get 
well,"  she  said.  "I  know  you  will  try  your  hardest. 
No  matter  what  happens — we're  final — and  I  shall 
stick  to  you  always,  and  nothing  shall  take  you  from 
me,  and  nobody.  .  .  .  When  I  am  of  age  I  shall  tell 
my  papa  about  us  and  then  we  shall  be  married  to 
each  other!  And  meanwhile  you  shall  write  to  me 
every  day  and  I  shall  write  to  you  three  times  every 
day!"  Her  breath  came  like  white  smoke  between 
her  parted  lips  and  she  stood  valiant  and  sturdy  in  the 
snow — a  strong,  resolute  girl,  built  like  a  boy — clean- 
cut,  crystal-pure,  and  steel-true.  A  shot  sounded  and 
there  came  to  them  presently  the  pungent,  acid  smell 
of  burnt  powder. 

"  And  we  shall  never  hurt  things  or  kill  them,"  said 
G.  G.  "And  every  day  when  I've  been  good  I  shall 
kiss  your  feet  and  your  hands." 

"  And  when  I've  been  good,"  she  said,  "  you'll  smile 
at  me  the  way  you're  smiling  now — and  it  won't  be 
necessary  to  die  and  go  to  Heaven  to  see  what  the 
gentlemen  angels  look  like." 

"But,"  cried  G.  G.,  "whoever  heard  of  going  to 
Heaven?  It  comes  to  people.  It's  here." 

"  And  for  us,"  she  said,  "  it's  come  to  stay." 

All  the  young  people  came  to  the  station  to  see 
Cynthia  off  and  G.  G.  had  to  content  himself  with  look 
ing  things  at  her.  And  then  he  went  back  to  his  room 

38 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

and  undressed  and  went  to  bed.  Because  for  a  week 
he  had  done  all  sorts  of  things  that  he  shouldn't  have 
done,  just  to  be  with  Cynthia — all  the  last  day  he 
had  had  fever  and  it  had  been  very  hard  for  him  to 
look  like  a  joyous  boy  angel — he  knew  by  experience 
that  he  was  in  for  a  "  time."  It  is  better  that  we  leave 
him  behind  closed  doors  with  his  doctors  and  his 
temperature.  We  may  knock  every  morning  and  ask 
how  he  is,  and  we  shall  be  told  that  he  is  no  better. 
He  was  even  delirious  at  times.  And  it  is  only  worth 
while  going  into  this  setback  of  G.  G.'s  because  there 
are  miracles  connected  with  it — his  daily  letter  to 
Cynthia. 

Each  day  she  had  his  letter — joyous,  loving,  clearly 
writ,  and  full  of  flights  into  silver-lined  clouds  and  the 
plannings  of  Spanish  castles.  Each  day  G.  G.  wrote 
his  letter  and  each  day  he  descended  a  little  farther 
into  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  until  at  last  he  came 
to  Death  Gate — and  then  rested,  a  voyager  undecided 
whether  to  go  on  or  to  go  back.  Who  may  know 
what  it  cost  him  to  write  his  letter,  sitting  there  at 
the  roadside! 

His  mother  was  with  him.  It  was  she  who  took 
the  letter  from  his  hands  when  he  sank  back  into 
his  pillows;  and  they  thought  for  a  little  that  he  had 
gone  from  that  place — for  good  and  all.  It  was  she 
who  put  it  into  the  envelope  and  who  carried  it  with 

39 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

her  own  hands  to  the  post-office.  Because  G.  G.  had 
said:  "To  get  there,  it  must  go  by  the  night's  mail, 
Mumsey." 

G.  G.'s  mother  didn't  read  the  letter;  but  you  may 
be  sure  she  noted  down  the  name  and  address  in  her 
heart  of  hearts,  and  that  for  the  girl  who  seemed  to 
mean  so  much  to  G.  G.  she  developed  upon  the  spot 
a  heavenly  tenderness,  mixed  with  a  heavenly  jealousy. 


II 


One  day  there  came  to  G.  G.,  in  convalescence — it 
was  after  his  mother  had  gone  back  to  New  York — 
a  great,  thick  package  containing  photographs  and  a 
letter.  I  think  the  letter  contained  rouge — because 
it  made  G.  G.'s  cheeks  so  red. 

Cynthia  had  collected  all  the  pictures  she  could  find 
of  herself  in  her  father's  house  and  sent  them  to  G.  G. 
There  were  pictures  of  her  in  the  longest  baby  clothes 
and  in  the  shortest.  There  were  pictures  posed  for 
occasions,  pictures  in  fancy  clothes,  and  a  quart  of 
kodaks.  He  had  her  there  on  his  knees — riding, 
driving,  diving,  skating,  walking,  sitting  on  steps, 
playing  with  dogs,  laughing,  looking  sad,  talking, 
dimpling,  smiling.  There  were  pictures  that  looked 
right  at  G.  G.,  no  matter  at  what  angle  he  held  them. 

40 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

There  were  pictures  so  delicious  of  her  that  he  laughed 
aloud  for  delight. 

All  the  stages  of  her  life  passed  before  his  eyes — 
over  and  over — all  day  long;  and,  instead  of  growing 
more  and  more  tired,  he  grew  more  and  more  refreshed. 
He  made  up  his  spotless  mind  to  be  worthy  of  her  and 
to  make,  for  her  to  bear,  a  name  of  which  nobody 
should  be  able  to  say  anything  unkind. 

If  G.  G.  had  had  very  little  education  he  had  made 
great  friends  with  some  of  the  friendliest  and  most 
valuable  books  that  had  ever  been  written.  And  he 
made  up  his  mind,  lying  at  full  length — the  livelong 
day — in  the  bright,  cold  air — his  mittened  hands 
plunged  into  deep  pockets  full  of  photographs — that, 
for  her  sake  and  to  hasten  that  time  when  they  might 
always  be  together,  he  would  learn  to  write  books, 
taking  infinite  pains.  And  he  determined  that  these 
books  should  be  as  sweet  and  clean  and  honorable 
as  he  could  make  them.  You  see,  G.  G.  had  been 
under  the  weather  so  much  and  had  suffered  so  much 
all  alone  by  himself,  with  nobody  to  talk  to,  that  his 
head  was  already  full  of  stories  about  make-believe 
places  and  people  that  were  just  dying  to  get  them 
selves  written.  So  many  things  that  are  dead  to  most 
people  had  always  been  alive  to  him — leaves,  flowers, 
fairies.  He  had  always  been  a  busy  maker  of  verses, 
which  was  because  melody,  rhythm,  and  harmony  had 
always  been  delicious  to  his  ear.  And  he  had  had, 

41 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

as  a  little  boy,  a  soprano  voice  that  was  as  true  as 
truth  and  almost  as  agile  as  a  canary  bird's. 

He  decided,  then,  very  deliberately — lying  upon  his 
back  and  healing  that  traitor  lung  of  his — to  be  a 
writer.  He  didn't  so  decide  entirely  because  that  was 
what  he  had  always  wanted  to  be,  but  for  many  rea 
sons.  First  place,  he  could  say  things  to  her  through 
prose  and  verse  that  could  not  be  expressed  in  sculpt 
ure,  music,  painting,  groceries,  or  dry-goods.  Second 
place,  where  she  was,  there  his  heart  was  sure  to  be; 
and  where  the  heart  is,  there  the  best  work  is  done. 
And,  third  place,  he  knew  that  the  chances  were 
against  his  ever  living  in  dusty  cities  or  in  the  places 
of  business  thereof. 

"  I  am  so  young,"  he  wrote  to  her,  "  that  I  can  begin 
at  the  beginning  and  learn  to  be  anything — in  time 
to  be  it!  And  so  every  morning  now  you  shall  think 
of  G.  G.  out  with  his  butterfly  net,  running  after 
winged  words.  That's  nonsense.  I've  a  little  pad 
and  a  big  pencil,  and  a  hot  potato  in  my  pocket  for 
to  warm  the  numb  fingers  at.  And  father's  got  an  old 
typewriter  in  his  office  that's  to  be  put  in  order  for  me; 
and  nights  I  shall  drum  upon  it  and  print  off  what  was 
written  down  in  the  morning,  and  study  to  see  why 
it's  all  wrong.  I  think  I'll  never  write  anything  but 
tales  about  people  who  love  each  other.  'Cause  a 
fellow  wants  to  stick  to  what  he  knows  about.  .  .  ." 

Though  G.  G.  was  not  to  see  Cynthia  again  for  a 
42 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

whole  year  he  didn't  find  any  trouble  in  loving  her  a 
little  more  every  day.  To  his  mind's  eye  she  was  al 
most  as  vivid  as  if  she  had  been  standing  right  there  in 
front  of  him.  And  as  for  her  voice,  that  dwelt  ever 
in  his  ear,  like  those  lovely  airs  which,  once  heard,  are 
only  put  aside  with  death.  You  may  have  heard 
your  grandmother  lilting  to  herself,  over  her  mending, 
some  song  of  men  and  maidens  and  violets  that  she 
had  listened  to  in  her  girlhood  and  could  never  forget. 

And  then,  of  course,  everything  that  G.  G.  did  was 
a  reminder  of  Cynthia.  With  the  help  of  one  of  Doc 
tor  Trudeau's  assistants,  who  came  every  day  to  see 
how  he  was  getting  on,  he  succeeded  in  understanding 
very  well  what  was  the  matter  with  him  and  under 
just  what  conditions  a  consumptive  lung  heals  and 
becomes  whole.  To  live  according  to  the  letter  and 
spirit  of  the  doctor's  advice  became  almost  a  religion 
with  him. 

For  six  hours  of  every  day  he  sat  on  the  porch  of 
the  house  where  he  had  rooms,  writing  on  his  little 
pad  and  making  friends  with  the  keen,  clean,  healing 
air.  Every  night  the  windows  of  his  bedroom  stood 
wide  open,  so  that  in  the  morning  the  water  in  his 
pitcher  was  a  solid  block.  And  he  ate  just  the  things 
he  was  told  to — and  willed  himself  to  like  milk  and 
sugar,  and  snow  and  cold,  and  short  days! 

In  his  writing  he  began  to  see  progress.  He  was 
43  ' 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

like  a  musical  person  beginning  to  learn  an  instru 
ment;  for,  just  as  surely  as  there  are  scales  to  be  run 
upon  the  piano  before  your  virtuoso  can  weave  music, 
binding  the  gallery  gods  with  delicious  meshes  of 
sound,  so  in  prose-writing  there  must  be  scales  run, 
fingerings  worked  out,  and  harmonies  mastered.  For 
in  a  page  of  lo  bello  stile  you  will  find  trills  and  arpeg 
gios,  turns,  grace  notes,  a  main  theme,  a  sub  theme, 
thorough-bass,  counterpoint,  and  form. 

Music  is  an  easier  art  than  prose,  however.  It 
comes  to  men  as  a  more  direct  and  concrete  gift  of 
those  gods  who  delight  in  sound  and  the  co-ordination 
of  parts.  The  harmonies  are  more  quickly  grasped 
by  the  well-tuned  ear.  We  can  imagine  the  boy 
Mozart  discoursing  lovely  music  at  the  age  of  five; 
but  we  cannot  imagine  any  one  of  such  tender  years 
compiling  even  a  fifth-rate  paragraph  of  prose.  • 

Those  men  who  have  mastered  lo  bello  stile  in  music 
can  tell  us  pretty  clearly  how  the  thing  is  done.  There 
be  rules.  But  your  prose  masters  either  cannot  for 
mulate  what  they  have  learned — or  will  not. 

G.  G.  was  very  patient;  and  there  were  times  when 
the  putting  together  of  words  was  fascinating,  like  the 
putting  together  of  those  picture  puzzles  which  were 
such  a  fad  the  other  day.  And  such  reading  as  he 
did  was  all  in  one  book — the  dictionary.  For  hours, 
guided  by  his  nice  ear  for  sound,  he  applied  himself 

44 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

to  learning  the  derivatives  and  exact  meanings  of  new 
words — or  he  looked  up  old  words  and  found  that  they 
were  new. 

As  for  his  actual  compositions,  he  had  only  the 
ambition  to  make  them  as  workmanlike  as  he  could. 
He  made  little  landscapes;  he  drew  little  interiors. 
He  tried  to  get  people  up  and  down  stairs  in  the  fewest 
words  that  would  make  the  picture.  And  when  he 
thought  that  he  had  scored  a  little  success  he  would 
count  the  number  of  words  he  had  used  and  determine 
to  achieve  the  same  effect  with  the  use  of  only  half  that 
number. 

Well,  G.  G.'s  lung  healed  again;  and  this  time  he 
was  very  careful  not  to  overdo.  He  had  gained  nine 
pounds,  he  wrote  to  Cynthia — "saved  them"  was  the 
way  he  put  it;  and  he  was  determined  that  this  new 
tissue,  worth  more  than  its  weight  in  gold,  should  go 
to  bank  and  earn  interest  for  him — and  compound 
interest. 

"  Shall  I  get  well  ?  "  he  asked  that  great  dreamer  who 
dreamed  that  there  was  hope  for  people  who  had  never 
hoped  before — and  who  has  lived  to  see  his  dream 
come  true;  and  the  great  dreamer  smiled  and  said: 

"  G.  G.,  if  growing  boys  are  good  boys  and  do  what 
they  are  told,  and  have  any  luck  at  all — they  always 
get  well!" 

Then  G.  G.  blushed. 

45 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"And  when  I  am  well  can  I  live  where  I  please — 
and — and  get  married — and  all  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"You  can  live  where  you  please,  marry  and  have 
children;  and  if  you  aren't  a  good  husband  and  a 
good  father  I  dare  say  you'll  live  to  be  hanged  at 
ninety.  But  if  I  were  you,  G.  G.,  I'd  stick  by  the 
Adirondacks  until  you're  old  enough  to — know  better." 

And  G.  G.  went  back  to  his  rooms  in  great  glee  and 
typewrote  a  story  that  he  had  finished  as  well  as  he 
could,  and  sent  it  to  a  magazine.  And  six  days  later  it 
came  back  to  him,  with  a  little  note  from  the  editor, 
who  said: 

"There's  nothing  wrong  with  your  story  except 
youth.  If  you  say  so  we'll  print  it.  We  like  it.  But, 
personally,  and  believing  that  I  have  your  best  inter 
ests  at  heart,  I  advise  you  to  wait,  to  throw  this  story 
into  your  scrap  basket,  and  to  study  and  to  labor  until 
your  mind  and  your  talent  are  mature.  For  the  rest, 
I  think  you  are  going  to  do  some  fine  things.  This 
present  story  isn't  that — it's  not  fine.  At  the  same 
time,  it  is  so  very  good  in  some  ways  that  we  are  willing 
to  leave  its  publication  or  its  destruction  to  your  dis 
cretion." 

G.  G.  threw  his  story  into  the  scrap  basket  and  went 
to  bed  with  a  brand-new  notion  of  editors. 

"  Why,"  said  he  to  the  cold  darkness — and  his  voice 
was  full  of  awe  and  astonishment — "they're — alive!" 

46 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 


III 


Cynthia  couldn't  get  at  G.  G.  and  she  made  up  her 
mind  that  she  must  get  at  something  that  belonged  to 
him — or  die.  She  had  his  letter,  of  course,  and  his 
kodaks;  and  these  spoke  the  most  eloquent  language 
to  her — no  matter  what  they  said  or  how  they  looked — 
but  she  wanted  somehow  or  other  to  worm  herself 
deeper  into  G.  G.'s  life.  To  find  somebody,  for  in 
stance,  who  knew  all  about  him  and  would  enjoy  talk 
ing  about  him  by  the  hour.  Now  there  are  never  but 
two  people  who  enjoy  sitting  by  the  hour  and  saying 
nice  things  about  any  man — and  these,  of  course,  are 
the  woman  who  bore  him  and  the  woman  who  loves 
him.  Fathers  like  their  sons  well  enough — some 
times — and  will  sometimes  talk  about  them  and  praise 
them;  but  not  always.  So  it  seemed  to  Cynthia  that 
the  one  and  only  thing  worth  doing,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  was  to  make  friends  with  G.  G.'s  mother. 
To  that  end,  Cynthia  donned  a  warm  coat  of  pony-skin 
and  drove  in  a  taxicab  to  G.  G.'s  mother's  address, 
which  she  had  long  since  looked  up  in  the  telephone 
book. 

"  If  she  isn't  alone,"  said  Cynthia,  "  I  shan't  know 
what  to  say  or  what  to  do." 

And  she  hesitated,  with  her  thumb  hovering  about 
47 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

the  front-door  bell — as  a  humming-bird  hovers  at  a 
flower. 

Then  she  said:  "  What  does  it  matter ?  Nobody's 
going  to  eat  me."  And  she  rang  the  bell. 

G.  G.'s  mother  was  at  home.  She  was  alone.  She 
was  sitting  in  G.  G.'s  father's  library,  where  she  always 
did  sit  when  she  was  alone.  It  was  where  she  kept 
most  of  her  pictures  of  G.  G.'s  father  and  of  G.  G., 
though  she  had  others  in  her  bedroom;  and  in  her 
dressing-room  she  had  a  dapple-gray  horse  of  wood 
that  G.  G.  had  galloped  about  on  when  he  was  little. 
She  had  a  sweet  face,  full  of  courage  and  affection. 
And  everything  in  her  house  was  fresh  and  pretty, 
though  there  wasn't  anything  that  could  have  cost 
very  much.  G.  G.'s  father  was  a  lawyer.  He  was 
more  interested  in  leaving  a  stainless  name  behind 
him  than  a  pot  of  money.  And,  somehow,  fruit  doesn't 
tumble  off  your  neighbor's  tree  and  fall  into  your  own 
lap — unless  you  climb  the  tree  when  nobody  is  look 
ing  and  give  the  tree  a  sound  shaking.  I  might  have 
said  of  G.  G.,  in  the  very  beginning,  that  he  was  born 
of  poor  and  honest  parents.  It  would  have  saved  all 
this  explanation. 

G.  G.'s  mother  didn't  make  things  hard  for  Cynthia. 
One  glance  was  enough  to  tell  her  that  dropping  into 
the  little  library  out  of  the  blue  sky  was  not  a  pretty 
girl  but  a  blessed  angel — not  a  rich  man's  daughter 

48 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

but  a  treasure.  It  wasn't  enough  to  give  one  hand  to 
such  a  maiden.  G.  G.'s  mother  gave  her  two.  But 
she  didn't  kiss  her.  She  felt  things  too  deeply  to  kiss 
easily. 

"I've  come  to  talk  about  G.  G.,"  said  Cynthia. 
"I  couldn't  help  it.  I  think  he's  the  dearest  boy!" 

She  finished  quite  breathless — and  if  there  had  been 
any  Jacqueminot  roses  present  they  might  have  hung 
their  lovely  heads  in  shame  and  left  the  room. 

"G.  G.  has  shown  me  pictures  of  you,"  said  his 
mother.  "And  once,  when  we  thought  we  were 
going  to  lose  him,  he  used  his  last  strength  to  write  to 
you.  I  mailed  the  letter.  That  is  a  long  time  ago. 
Nearly  two  years. 

"And  I  didn't  know  that  he'd  been  ill  in  all  that 
time,"  said  Cynthia;  "  he  never  told  me." 

"He  would  have  cut  off  his  hand  sooner  than 
make  you  anxious.  That  was  why  he  would  write 
his  daily  letter  to  you.  That  one  must  have  been 
almost  as  hard  to  write  as  cutting  off  a  hand." 

"  He  writes  to  me  every  day,"  said  Cynthia,  "  and  I 
write  to  him;  but  I  haven't  seen  him  for  a  year  and  I 
don't  feel  as  if  I  could  stand  it  much  longer.  When 
he  gets  well  we're  going  to  be  married.  And  if  he 
doesn't  get  well  pretty  soon  we're  going  to  be  married 
anyway." 

"  Oh,  my  dear ! "  exclaimed  G.  G.'s  mother.  "  You 
know  that  wouldn't  be  right!" 

49 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cynthia;  "and  if  anybody 
thinks  I'm  going  to  be  tricked  out  of  the  man  I  love 
by  a  lot  of  silly  little  germs  they  are  very  much  mis 
taken!" 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  G.  G.'s  mother,  "  G.  G.  can't 
support  a  wife — not  for  a  long  time  anyway.  We  have 
nothing  to  give  him.  And,  of  course,  he  can't  work 
now — and  perhaps  can't  for  years." 

"I,  too,"  said  Cynthia — with  proper  pride — "have 
parents.  Mine  are  rolling  in  money.  Whenever  I 
ask  them  for  anything  they  always  give  it  to  me 
without  question." 

"You  have  never  asked  them,"  said  G.  G.'s  mother, 
"  for  a  sick,  penniless  boy." 

"  But  I  shall,"  said  Cynthia,  "  the  moment  G.  G.'s 
well — and  maybe  sooner." 

There  was  a  little  silence. 

Then  G.  G.'s  mother  leaned  forward  and  took  both 
of  Cynthia's  hands  in  hers. 

"I  don't  wonder  at  him,"  she  said— "I  don't. 
I  was  ever  so  jealous  of  you,  but  I'm  not  any  more.  I 
think  you're  the  dearest  girl!" 

"Oh!"  cried  Cynthia.  "I  am  so  glad!  But  will 
G.  G.'s  father  like  me  too?" 

"  He  has  never  yet  failed,"  said  G.  G.'s  mother,  "  to 
like  with  his  whole  heart  anything  that  was  stainless 
and  beautiful." 

"Is  he  like  G.  G.?" 

50 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"  He  has  the  same  beautiful  round  head,  but  he  has 
a  rugged  look  that  G.  G.  will  never  have.  He  has  a 
lion  look.  He  might  have  been  a  terrible  tyrant  if 
he  hadn't  happened,  instead,  to  be  a  saint." 

And  she  showed  Cynthia,  side  by  side,  pictures  of 
the  father  and  the  boy. 

"They  have  such  valiant  eyes!"  said  Cynthia. 

"There  is  nothing  base  in  my  young  men,"  said 
G.  G.'s  mother. 

Then  the  two  women  got  right  down  to  business  and 
began  an  interminable  conversation  of  praise.  And 
sometimes  G.  G.'s  mother's  eyes  cried  a  little  while 
the  rest  of  her  face  smiled  and  she  prattled  like  a 
brook.  And  the  meeting  ended  with  a  great  hug,  in 
which  G.  G.'s  mother's  tiny  feet  almost  parted  com 
pany  with  the  floor. 

And  it  was  arranged  that  they  two  should  fly  up  to 
Saranac  and  be  with  G.  G.  for  a  day. 


IV 


It  wasn't  from  shame  that  G.  G.  signed  another 
name  than  his  own  to  the  stories  that  he  was  making 
at  the  rate  of  one  every  two  months.  He  judged 
calmly  and  dispassionately  that  they  were  "going  to 
be  pretty  good  some  day,"  and  that  it  would  never 
be  necessary  for  him  to  live  in  a  city.  He  signed  his 

51 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

stories  with  an  assumed  name  because  he  was  full  of 
dramatic  instinct.  He  wanted  to  be  able — just  the 
minute  he  was  well — to  say  to  Cynthia: 

"Let  us  be  married!"  Then  she  was  to  say:  "Of 
course,  G.  G.;  but  what  are  we  going  to  live  on?" 
And  G.  G.  was  going  to  say:  "Ever  hear  of  so-and- 
so?" 

CYNTHIA:  Goodness  gracious!  Sakes  alive!  Yes; 
I  should  think  I  had!  And,  except  for  you,  darlingest 
G.  G.,  I  think  he's  the  very  greatest  man  in  all  the 
world! 

G.  G. :  Goosey-Gander,  know  that  he  and  I  are  one 
and  the  same  person — and  that  we've  saved  seventeen 
hundred  dollars  to  get  married  on! 

(Tableau  not  to  be  seen  by  the  audience.) 

So  far  as  keeping  Cynthia  and  his  father  and  mother 
in  ignorance  of  the  fledgling  wings  he  was  beginning 
to  flap,  G.  G.  succeeded  admirably;  but  it  might  have 
been  better  to  have  told  them  all  in  the  begin 
ning. 

Now  G.  G/s  seventeen  hundred  dollars  was  a 
huge  myth.  He  was  writing  short  stories  at  the  rate  of 
six  a  year  and  he  had  picked  out  to  do  business  with 
one  of  the  most  dignified  magazines  in  the  world. 
Dignified  people  do  not  squander  money.  The  maga 
zine  in  question  paid  G.  G .  from  sixty  to  seventy  dol 
lars  apiece  for  his  stories  and  was  much  too  dignified 

52 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

to  inform  him  that  plenty  of  other  magazines — very 
frivolous  and  not  in  the  least  dignified — would  have 
been  ashamed  to  pay  so  little  for  anything  but  the 
poems,  which  all  magazines  use  to  fill  up  blank  spaces. 
So,  even  in  his  own  ambitious  and  courageous  mind, 
a  "married  living"  seemed  a  very  long  way  off. 

He  refused  to  be  discouraged,  however.  His  health 
was  too  good  for  that.  The  doctor  pointed  to  him 
with  pride  as  a  patient  who  followed  instructions  to 
the  letter  and  was  not  going  to  die  of  the  disease  which 
had  brought  him  to  Saranac.  And  they  wrote  to 
G.  G.'s  father — who  was  finding  life  very  expensive — 
that,  if  he  could  keep  G.  G.  at  Saranac,  or  almost  any 
where  out  of  New  York,  for  another  year  or  two,  they 
guaranteed — as  much  as  human  doctors  can — that 
G.  G.  would  then  be  as  sound  as  a  bell  and  fit  to  live 
anywhere. 

This  pronouncement  was  altogether  too  much  of 
a  good  thing  for  Fate.  As  G.  G/s  father  walked  up 
town  from  his  office,  Fate  raised  a  dust  in  his  face 
which,  in  addition  to  the  usual  ingredients  of  city  dust, 
contained  at  least  one  thoroughly  compatible  pair  of 
pneumonia  germs.  These  went  for  their  honey-moon 
on  a  pleasant,  warm  journey  up  G.  G/s  father's  left 
nostril  and  to  house-keeping  in  his  lungs.  In  a  few 
hours  they  raised  a  family  of  several  hundred  thou 
sand  bouncing  baby  germs;  and  these  grew  up  in  a 

53 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

few  minutes  and  began  to  set  up  establishments  of 
their  own  right  and  left. 

G.  G/s  father  admitted  that  he  had  a  "  heavy  cold 
on  the  chest."  It  was  such  a  heavy  cold  that  he  be 
came  delirious,  and  doctors  came  and  sent  for  nurses; 
and  there  was  laid  in  the  home  of  G.  G.'s  father  the 
corner-stone  of  a  large  edifice  of  financial  disaster. 

He  had  never  had  a  partner.  His  practice  came  to 
a  dead  halt.  The  doctors  whom  G.  G.'s  mother  called 
in  were,  of  course,  the  best  she  had  ever  heard  of. 
They  would  have  been  leaders  of  society  if  their  per 
sons  had  been  as  fashionable  as  their  prices.  The 
corner  drug  store  made  its  modest  little  profit  of  three 
or  four  hundred  per  cent  on  the  drugs  which  were 
telephoned  for  daily.  The  day  nurse  rolled  up  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  week  and  the  night  nurse  thirty-five. 
The  servant's  wages  continued  as  usual.  The  price 
of  beef,  eggs,  vegetables,  etc.,  rose.  The  interest  on 
the  mortgage  fell  due.  And  it  is  a  wonder,  consider 
ing  how  much  he  worried,  that  G.  G.'s  father  ever 
lived  to  face  his  obligations. 

Cynthia,  meanwhile,  having  heard  that  G.  G.  was 
surely  going  to  get  well,  was  so  happy  that  she  couldn't 
contain  the  news.  And  she  proceeded  to  divulge  it 
to  her  father. 

"Papa,"  she  said,  "I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that 
years  ago,  at  Saranac— that  Christmas  when  I  went 

54 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

up  with  the  Andersons — I  met  the  man  that  I  am 
going  to  marry.  He  was  a  boy  then;  but  now  we're 
both  grown  up  and  we  feel  just  the  same  about  each 
other." 

And  she  told  her  father  G.  G.'s  name  and  that  he 
had  been  very  delicate,  but  that  he  was  surely  going 
to  get  well.  Cynthia's  father,  who  had  always  given 
her  everything  she  asked  for  until  now,  was  not  at  all 
enthusiastic. 

"  I  can't  prevent  your  marrying  any  one  you  deter 
mine  to  marry,  Cynthia,"  he  said.  "  Can  this  young 
man  support  a  wife?" 

"How  could  he!"  she  exclaimed — "living  at  Sar- 
anac  and  not  being  able  to  work,  and  not  having  any 
money  to  begin  with !  But  surely,  if  the  way  we  live 
is  any  criterion,  you  could  spare  us  some  money — 
couldn't  you?" 

"You  wish  me  to  say  that  I  will  support  a  delicate 
son-in-law  whom  I  have  never  seen?  Consult  your 
intelligence,  Cynthia." 

"I  have  my  allowance,"  she  said,  her  lips  curling. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father,  "  while  you  live  at  home  and 
do  as  you're  told." 

"Now,  papa,  don't  tell  me  that  you're  going  to  be 
have  like  a  lugubrious  parent  in  a  novel!  Don't  tell 
me  that  you  are  going  to  cut  me  off  with  a  shilling!" 

"I  shan't  do  that,"  he  said  gravely;  "it  will  be 
55 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

without  a  shilling."     But  he  tempered  this  savage 
statement  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Papa,  dear,  is  this  quite  definite?  Are  you  talk 
ing  in  your  right  mind  and  do  you  really  mean  what 
you  say?" 

"  Suppose  you  talk  the  matter  over  with  your  mother 
— she's  always  indulged  you  in  every  way.  See  what 
she  says." 

It  developed  that  neither  of  Cynthia's  parents  was 
enthusiastic  at  the  prospect  of  her  marrying  a  nameless 
young  man — she  had  told  them  his  name,  but  that  was 
all  she  got  for  her  pains — who  hadn't  a  penny  and  who 
had  had  consumption,  and  might  or  might  not  be 
sound  again.  Personally  they  did  not  believe  that 
consumption  can  be  cured.  It  can  be  arrested  for 
a  time,  they  admitted,  but  it  always  comes  back. 
Cynthia's  mother  even  made  a  physiological  attack 
on  Cynthia's  understanding,  with  the  result  that 
Cynthia  turned  indignantly  pink  and  left  the  room, 
saying: 

"  If  the  doctor  thinks  it's  perfectly  right  and  proper 
for  us  to  marry  I  don't  see  the  least  point  in  listening 
to  the  opinions  of  excited  and  prejudiced  amateurs." 

The  ultimatum  that  she  had  from  her  parents  was 
distinct,  final,  and  painful. 

"Marry  him  if  you  like.  We  will  neither  forgive 
you  nor  support  you." 

56 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

They  were  perfectly  calm  with  her — cool,  affection 
ate,  sensible,  and  worldly,  as  it  is  right  and  proper  for 
parents  to  be.  She  told  them  they  were  wrong-headed, 
old-fashioned,  and  unintelligent;  but  as  long  as  they 
hadn't  made  scenes  and  talked  loud  she  found  that  she 
couldn't  help  loving  them  almost  as  much  as  she  al 
ways  had;  but  she  loved  G.  G.  very  much  more.  And 
having  definitely  decided  to  defy  her  family,  to  marry 
G.  G.  and  live  happily  ever  afterward,  she  consulted 
her  check-book  and  discovered  that  her  available 
munition  of  war  was  something  less  than  five  hundred 
dollars — most  of  it  owed  to  her  dress-maker. 

"  Well,  well!"  she  said;  "she's  always  had  plenty  of 
money  from  me;  she  can  afford  to  wait." 

And  Cynthia  wrote  to  her  dress-maker,  who  was  also 
her  friend! 

MY  DEAR  CELESTE  :  I  have  decided  that  you  will  have  to  afford 
to  wait  for  your  money.  I  have  an  enterprise  in  view  which  calls 
for  all  the  available  capital  I  have.  Please  write  me  a  nice  note 
and  say  that  you  don't  mind  a  bit.  Otherwise  we  shall  stop  being 
friends  and  I  shall  always  get  my  clothes  from  somebody  else. 
Let  me  know  when  the  new  models  come.  .  .  . 


On  her  way  down-town  Cynthia  stopped  to  see 
G.  G/s  mother  and  found  the  whole  household  in  the 
throes  occasioned  by  its  head's  pneumonia. 

57 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"Why  haven't  you  let  me  know?"  exclaimed  Cyn 
thia.  "There  must  be  so  many  little  things  that  I 
could  have  done  to  help  you." 

Though  the  sick  man  couldn't  have  heard  them  if 
they  had  shouted,  the  two  women  talked  in  whispers, 
with  their  heads  very  close  together. 

"He's  better,"  said  G.  G.'s  mother,  " but  yesterday 
they  wanted  me  to  send  for  G.  G.  'No/  I  said. 
'You  may  have  given  him  up,  but  I  haven't.  If  I 
send  for  my  boy  it  would  look  as  if  I  had  surrendered.' 
And  almost  at  once,  if  you'll  believe  it,  he  seemed  to 
shake  off  something  that  was  trying  to  strangle  him 
and  took  a  turn  for  the  better;  and  now  they  say  that, 
barring  some  long  names,  he  will  get  well.  ...  It 
does  look,  my  dear,  as  if  death  had  seen  that  there  was 
no  use  facing  a  thoroughly  determined  woman." 

At  this  point,  because  she  was  very  much  over 
wrought,  G.  G.'s  mother  had  a  mild  little  attack  of 
hysteria;  and  Cynthia  beat  her  on  the  back  and 
shook  her  and  kissed  her  until  she  was  over  it.  Then 
G.  G.'s  mother  told  Cynthia  about  her  financial 
troubles. 

"It  isn't  us  that  matters,"  she  said,  "but  that  G.  G. 
ought  to  have  one  more  year  in  a  first-rate  climate; 
and  it  isn't  going  to  be  possible  to  give  it  to  him. 
They  say  that  he's  well,  my  dear,  absolutely  well;  but 
that  now  he  should  have  a  chance  to  build  up  and 

58 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

become  strong  and  heavy,  so  that  he  can  do  a  man's 
work  in  the  world.  As  it  is,  we  shall  have  to  take 
him  home  to  live;  and  you  know  what  New  York 
dust  and  climate  can  do  to  people  who  have  been 
very,  very  ill  and  are  still  delicate  and  high-strung." 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  do  for  the  present," 
said  Cynthia — "anybody  with  the  least  notion  of 
business  knows  that — we  must  keep  him  at  Saranac 
just  as  long  as  our  credit  holds  out,  mustn't  we? — 
until  the  woman  where  he  boards  begins  to  act  ugly 
and  threatens  to  turn  him  out  in  the  snow." 

"Oh,  but  that  would  be  dreadful!"  said  G.  G.'s 
mother.  Cynthia  smiled  in  a  superior  way. 

"I  don't  believe,"  she  said,  "that  you  understand 
the  first  thing  about  business.  Even  my  father,  who 
is  a  prude  about  bills,  says  that  all  the  business  of  the 
country  is  done  on  credit.  .  .  .  Now  you're  not  going 
to  be  silly,  are  you  ? — and  make  G.  G.  come  to  New 
York  before  he  has  to?" 

"It  will  have  to  be  pretty  soon,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
G.  G.'s  mother. 

"  Sooner  than  run  such  risks  with  any  boy  of  mine," 
said  Cynthia,  with  a  high  color,  "  I'd  beg,  I'd  borrow, 
I'd  forge,  I'd  lie— I'd  steal!" 

"Don't  I  know  you  would!"  exclaimed  G.  G.'s 
mother.  "My  darling  girl,  you've  got  the  noblest 
character — it's  just  shining  in  your  eyes!" 

"There's  another  thing,"  said  Cynthia:  "I  have  to 
59 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

go  down-town  now  on  business,  but  you  must  telephone 
me  around  five  o'clock  and  tell  me  how  G.  G.'s  father 
is.  And  you  must  spend  all  your  time  between  now 
and  then  trying  to  think  up  something  really  useful 
that  I  can  do  to  help  you.  And" — here  Cynthia  be 
came  very  mysterious — "I  forbid  you  to  worry  about 
money  until  I  tell  you  to!" 

Cynthia  had  a  cousin  in  Wall  Street;  his  name 
was  Jarrocks  Bell.  He  was  twenty  years  older  than 
Cynthia  and  he  had  been  fond  of  her  ever  since  she 
was  born.  He  was  a  great,  big,  good-looking  man, 
gruff  without  and  tender  within.  Clever  people,  who 
hadn't  made  successful  brokers,  wondered  how  in  the 
face  of  what  they  called  his  "obvious  stupidity"  Jar- 
rocks  Bell  had  managed  to  grow  rich  in  Wall  Street. 
The  answer  was  obvious  enough  to  any  one  who 
knew  him  intimately.  To  begin  with,  his  stupidity 
was  superficial.  In  the  second  place,  he  had  studied 
bonds  and  stocks  until  he  knew  a  great  deal  about 
them.  Then,  though  a  drinking  man,  he  had  a  head 
like  iron  and  was  never  moved  by  exhilaration  to 
mention  his  own  or  anybody  else's  affairs.  Further 
more,  he  was  unscrupulously  honest.  He  was  so 
honest  and  blunt  that  people  thought  him  brutal  at 
times.  Last  and  not  least  among  the  elements  of 
his  success  was  the  fact  that  he  himself  never  specu 
lated. 

When  the  big  men  found  out  that  there  was  in 
60 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

Wall  Street  a  broker  who  didn't  speculate  himself, 
who  didn't  drink  to  excess,  who  was  absolutely  hon 
est,  and  who  never  opened  his  mouth  when  it  was 
better  shut,  they  began  to  patronize  that  man's  firm. 
In  short,  the  moment  Jarrocks  Bell's  qualities  were 
discovered,  Jarrocks  Bell  was  made.  So  that  now, 
in  speculative  years,  his  profits  were  enormous. 

Cynthia  had  always  been  fond  of  her  big,  blunt 
cousin,  as  he  of  her;  and  in  her  present  trouble  her 
thoughts  flew  to  him  as  straight  as  a  homing  aero 
plane  to  the  landing-stage. 

Even  a  respectable  broker's  office  is  a  noisome, 
embarrassing  place,  and  among  the  clients  are  men 
whose  eyes  have  become  popped  from  staring  at  paper- 
tapes  and  pretty  girls;  but  Cynthia  had  no  more  fear 
of  men  than  a  farmer's  daughter  has  of  cows,  and  she 
flashed  through  Jarrocks's  outer  office — preceded  by  a 
very  small  boy — with  her  color  unchanged  and  only 
her  head  a  little  higher  than  usual. 

Jarrocks  must  have  wondered  to  the  point  of  vul 
gar  curiosity  what  the  deuce  had  brought  Cynthia  to 
see  him  in  the  busiest  hour  of  a  very  busy  day;  but  he 
said  "Hello,  Cynthia!"  as  naturally  as  if  they  two 
had  been  visiting  in  the  same  house  and  he  had  come 
face  to  face  with  her  for  the  third  or  fourth  time  that 
morning. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Cynthia,  "that  you  are  dread- 
61 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

fully  busy;  but,  Jarrocks  dear,  my  affairs  are  so  much 
more  important  to  me  than  yours  can  possibly  be  to 
you — do  you  mind  ?  " 

"May  I  smoke?" 

"  Of  course." 

"Then  I  don't  mind.  What's  your  affair,  Cynthia 
— money  or  the  heart?" 

"Both,  Jarrocks."  And  she  told  him  pretty  much 
what  the  reader  has  already  learned.  As  for  Jarrocks's 
listening,  he  was  a  perfect  study  of  himself.  He 
laughed  gruffly  when  he  ought  to  have  cried;  and 
when  Cynthia  tried  to  be  a  little  humorous  he  looked 
very  solemn  and  not  unlike  the  big  bronze  Buddha 
of  the  Japanese.  Inside,  however,  his  big  heart  was 
full  of  compassion  and  tenderness  for  his  favorite 
girl  in  all  the  world.  Nobody  will  ever  know  just 
how  fond  Jarrocks  was  of  Cynthia.  It  was  one  of 
those  matters  on  which — owing,  perhaps,  to  his  being 
her  senior  by  twenty  years — he  had  always  thought  it 
best  to  keep  his  mouth  shut. 

"What's  your  plan?"  he  asked.  "Where  do  I 
come  in  ?  I'll  give  you  anything  I've  got."  Cynthia 
waived  the  offer;  it  was  a  little  unwelcome. 

"I've  got  about  five  hundred  dollars,"  she  said, 
"and  I  want  to  speculate  with  it  and  make  a  lot  of 
money,  so  that  I  can  be  independent  of  papa  and 
mamma." 

62 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"Lots  of  people,"  said  Jarrocks,  "come  to  Wall 
Street  with  five  hundred  dollars,  more  or  less,  and  they 
wish  to  be  independent  of  papa  and  mamma.  They 
end  up  by  going  to  live  in  the  Mills  Hotel." 

"I  know,"  said  Cynthia;  "but  this  is  really  im 
portant.  If  G.  G.  could  work  it  would  be  different." 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Jarrocks:  "If  you 
weren't  in  love  with  G.  G.  what  would  you  think  of 
him  as  a  candidate  for  your  very  best  friend's  hand?" 

Cynthia  counted  ten  before  answering. 

"Jarrocks,  dear,"  she  said — and  he  turned  away 
from  the  meltingness  of  her  lovely  face — "  he's  so  pure, 
he's  so  straight,  he's  so  gentle  and  so  brave,  that  I 
don't  really  think  I  can  tell  you  what  I  think  of  him." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Jarrocks  said 
gruffly : 

"That's  a  clean-enough  bill  of  health.  Guess  you 
can  bring  him  into  the  family,  Cynthia." 

Then  he  drummed  with  his  thick,  stubby  fingers  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  The  idea,"  he  said  at  last,  "  is  to  turn  five  hundred 
dollars  into  a  fortune.  You  know  I  don't  speculate." 

"But  you  make  it  easy  for  other  people?" 

He  nodded. 

"If  you'd  come  a  year  ago,"  he  said,  "I'd  have 
sent  you  away.  Just  at  the  present  moment  your 
proposition  isn't  the  darn-fool  thing  it  sounds." 

63 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"I  knew  you'd  agree  with  me,"  said  Cynthia  com 
placently.  "I  knew  you'd  put  me  into  something 
that  was  going  'way  up." 

Jarrocks  snorted. 

"Prices  are  at  about  the  highest  level  they've  ever 
struck  and  money  was  never  more  expensive.  I  think 
we're  going  to  see  such  a  tumble  in  values  as  was  never 
seen  before.  It  almost  tempts  me  to  come  out  of  my 
shell  and  take  a  flyer — if  I  lose  your  five  hundred  for 
you,  you  won't  squeal,  Cynthia?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think.  There's  nothing 
certain  in  this  business,  but  if  ever  there  was  a  chance 
to  turn  five  hundred  dollars  into  big  money  it's  now. 
You've  entered  Wall  Street,  Cynthia,  at  what  looks 
to  me  like  the  psychological  moment." 

"That's  a  good  omen,"  said  Cynthia.  "I  believe 
we  shall  succeed.  And  I  leave  everything  to  you." 

Then  she  wrote  him  a  check  for  all  the  money  she 
had  in  the  world.  He  held  it  between  his  thumb  and 
forefinger  while  the  ink  dried. 

"  By  the  way,  Cynthia,"  he  said,  "  do  you  want  the 
account  to  stand  in  your  own  name?" 

She  thought  a  moment,  then  laughed  and  told  him 
to  put  it  in  the  name  of  G.  G.'s  mother.  "  But  you 
must  report  to  me  how  things  go,"  she  said. 

Jarrocks  called  a  clerk  and  gave  him  an  order  to 
64 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

sell  something  or  other.  In  three  minutes  the  clerk 
reported  that  "it" — just  some  letter  of  the  alphabet- 
had  been  sold  at  such  and  such  a  price. 

For  another  five  minutes  Jarrocks  denied  himself 
to  all  visitors.  Then  he  called  for  another  report  on 
the  stock  which  he  had  just  caused  to  be  sold.  It  was 
selling  "off  a  half." 

"Well,  Cynthia,"  said  Jarrocks,  "you're  fifty  dol 
lars  richer  than  when  you  came.  Now  I've  got  to  tell 
you  to  go.  I'll  look  out  for  your  interests  as  if  they 
were  my  own." 

And  Jarrocks,  looking  rather  stupid  and  bored, 
conducted  Cynthia  through  his  outer  offices  and  put 
her  into  an  elevator  "going  down."  Her  face  van 
ished  and  his  heart  continued  to  mumble  and  grum 
ble,  just  the  way  a  tooth  does  when  it  is  getting  ready 
to  ache. 

Cynthia  had  entered  Wall  Street  at  an  auspicious 
moment.  Stocks  were  at  that  high  level  from  which 
they  presently  tumbled  to  the  panic  quotations  of 
nineteen-seven.  And  Jarrocks,  whom  the  unsuccess 
ful  thought  so  very  stupid,  had  made  a  very  shrewd 
guess  as  to  what  was  going  to  happen. 

Two  weeks  later  he  wrote  Cynthia  that  if  she  could 
use  two  or  three  thousand  dollars  she  could  have  them, 
without  troubling  her  balance  very  perceptibly. 

"  I  thought  you  had  a  chance,"  he  wrote.  "  I'm  be- 
65 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

ginning  to  think  it's  a  sure  thing!  Keep  a  stiff  upper 
lip  and  first  thing  you  know  you'll  have  the  laugh  on 
mamma  and  papa.  Give  'em  my  best  regards." 


VI 


If  it  is  wicked  to  gamble  Cynthia  was  wicked.  If  it 
is  wicked  to  lie  Cynthia  was  wicked.  If  the  money 
that  comes  out  of  Wall  Street  belonged  originally  to 
widows  and  orphans,  why,  that  is  the  kind  of  money 
which  she  amassed  for  her  own  selfish  purposes. 
Worst  of  all,  on  learning  from  Jarrocks  that  the  Rain 
bow's  Foot — where  the  pot  of  gold  is — was  almost  in 
sight,  this  bad,  wicked  girl's  sensations  were  those  of 
unmixed  triumph  and  delight! 

The  panic  of  nineteen-seven  is  history  now.  Plenty 
of  people  who  lost  their  money  during  those  exciting 
months  can  explain  to  you  how  any  fool,  with  the  least 
luck,  could  have  made  buckets  of  it  instead. 

As  a  snowball  rolling  down  a  hill  of  damp  snow 
swells  to  gigantic  proportions,  so  Cynthia's  five  hun 
dred  dollars  descended  the  long  slopes  of  nineteen- 
seven,  doubling  itself  at  almost  every  turn.  And 
when,  at  last,  values  had  so  shrunk  that  it  looked  to 
Jarrocks  as  if  they  could  not  shrink  any  more,  he  told 
her  that  her  account — which  stood  in  the  name  of 
G.  G.'s  mother — was  worth  nearly  four  hundred  thou- 

66 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

sand  dollars.  "And  I  think/'  he  said,  "that,  if  you 
now  buy  stocks  outright  and  hold  them  as  investments^ 
your  money  will  double  again." 

So  they  put  their  heads  together  and  Cynthia  bought 
some  Union  Pacific  at  par  and  some  Steel  Common 
in  the  careless  twenties,  and  other  standard  securities 
that  were  begging,  almost  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  to 
be  bought  and  cared  for  by  somebody.  She  had  the 
certificates  of  what  she  bought  made  out  in  the  name 
of  G.  G/s  mother.  And  she  went  up-town  and  found 
G.  G.'s  mother  alone,  and  said: 

"  Oh,  my  dear!  If  anybody  ever  finds  out  you  will 
catch  it!" 

G.  G.'s  mother  knew  there  was  a  joke  of  some  kind 
preparing  at  her  expense,  but  she  couldn't  help  look 
ing  a  little  puzzled  and  anxious. 

"It's  bad  enough  to  do  what  you  have  done,"  con 
tinued  Cynthia;  "but  on  top  of  it  to  be  going  to  lie 
up  and  down — that  does  seem  a  little  too  awful!" 

"What  are  you  going  to  tell  me?"  cried  G.  G/s 
mother.  "I  know  you've  got  some  good  news  up 
your  sleeve!" 

"Gambler!"  cried  Cynthia— " cold-blooded,  reck 
less  Wall  Street  speculator!"  And  the  laughter  that 
was  pent  up  in  her  face  burst  its  bonds,  accompanied 
by  hugs  and  kisses. 

"Now  listen!"  said  Cynthia,  as  soon  as  she  could. 
67 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"  On  such  and  such  a  day,  you  took  five  hundred  dol 
lars  to  a  Wall  Street  broker  named  Jarrocks  Bell — 
you  thought  that  conditions  were  right  for  turning 
into  a  Bear.  You  went  short  of  the  market.  You 
kept  it  up  for  weeks  and  months.  Do  you  know  what 
you  did  ?  You  pyramided  on  the  way  down ! " 

"Mercy!"  exclaimed  G.  G.'s  mother,  her  eyes 
shining  with  wonder  and  excitement. 

"First  thing  you  knew,"  continued  Cynthia,  "you 
were  worth  four  hundred  thousand  dollars!" 

G.  G.'s  mother  gave  a  little  scream,  as  if  she  had 
seen  a  mouse. 

"  And  you  invested  it,"  went  on  Cynthia,  relenting, 
"so  that  now  you  stand  to  double  your  capital;  and 
your  annual  income  is  between  thirty  and  forty  thou 
sand  dollars!" 

After  this  Cynthia  really  did  some  explaining,  until 
G.  G.'s  mother  really  understood  what  had  really  hap 
pened.  It  must  be  recorded  that,  at  first,  she  was 
completely  flabbergasted. 

"And  you've  gone  and  put  it  in  my  name!"  she 
said.  "But  why?" 

"Don't  you  see,"  said  Cynthia,  "that  if  I  came 
offering  money  to  G.  G.  and  G.  G.'s  father  they 
wouldn't  even  sniff  at  it?  But  if  you've  got  it — why, 
they've  just  got  to  share  with  you.  Isn't  that  so?" 

"Y-e-e-s,"  admitted  G.  G.'s  mother;  "but,  my 
68 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

dear,  I  can't  take  it.  Even  if  I  could,  they  would  want 
to  know  where  I'd  gotten  it  and  I'd  have  nothing  to 
say." 

"Not  if  you're  the  one  woman  in  a  million  that  I 
think  you  are,"  said  Cynthia.  "Tell  me,  isn't  your 
husband  at  his  wit's  end  to  think  how  to  meet  the  bills 
for  his  illness  and  all  and  all?  And  wouldn't  you 
raise  your  finger  to  bring  all  his  miserable  worries  to 
an  end?  Just  look  at  the  matter  from  a  business 
point  of  view!  You  must  tell  your  husband  and  G.  G. 
that  what  has  really  happened  to  me  happened  to 
you;  that  you  were  desperate;  that  you  took  the 
five  hundred  dollars  to  speculate  with,  and  that  this 
is  the  result." 

"  But  that  wouldn't  be  true,"  said  G.  G.'s  mother. 

"For  mercy's  sake,"  said  Cynthia,  "what  has  the 
truth  got  to  do  with  it!  This  isn't  a  matter  of  re 
ligion  or  martyrdom;  it's  a  matter  of  business!  How 
to  put  an  end  to  my  husband's  troubles  and  to  enable 
my  son  to  marry  the  girl  he  loves  ? — that's  your  prob 
lem;  and  the  solution  is — lie!  Whom  can  the  money 
come  from  if  not  from  you  ?  Not  from  me  certainly. 
You  must  lie!  You'd  better  begin  in  the  dark,  where 
your  husband  can't  see  your  face — because  I'm  afraid 
you  don't  know  how  very  well.  But  after  a  time  it 
will  get  easy;  and  when  you've  told  him  the  story  two 
or  three  times — with  details — you'll  end  by  believing  it 

69 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

yourself.  .  .  .  And,  of  course,"  she  added,  "you  must 
make  over  half  of  the  securities  to  G.  G.,  so  that  he 
will  have  enough  money  to  support  a  wife." 

For  two  hours  Cynthia  wrestled  with  G.  G.'s 
mother's  conscience;  but,  when  at  last  the  struggling 
creature  was  thrown,  the  two  women  literally  took  it 
by  the  hair  and  dragged  it  around  the  room  and  beat 
it  until  it  was  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind. 

And  when  G.  G.'s  father  came  home  G.  G.'s  mother 
met  him  in  the  hall  that  was  darkish,  and  hid  her 
face  against  his — and  lied  to  him!  And  as  she  lied 
the  years  began  to  fall  from  the  shoulders  of  G.  G.'s 
father — to  the  number  of  ten. 


VII 


Cynthia  was  also  met  in  a  front  hall — but  by  her 
father. 

"I've  been  looking  for  you,  Cynthia,"  he  said 
gravely.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  and  get  your  advice — 
no;  the  library  is  full  of  smoke — come  in  here." 

He  led  her  into  the  drawing-room,  which  neither  of 
them  could  remember  ever  having  sat  in  before. 

"I've  been  talking  with  a  young  gentleman,"  said 
her  father  without  further  preliminaries,  "who  made 
himself  immensely  interesting  to  me.  To  begin  with, 
I  never  saw  a  handsomer,  more  engaging  specimen  of 

70 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

young  manhood;  and,  in  the  second  place,  he  is  the 
author  of  some  stories  that  I  have  enjoyed  in  the  past 
year  more  than  any  one's  except  O.  Henry's.  He 
doesn't  write  over  his  own  name — but  that's  neither 
here  nor  there. 

"  He  came  to  me  for  advice.  Why  he  selected  me, 
a  total  stranger,  will  appear  presently.  His  family 
isn't  well  off;  and,  though  he  expects  to  succeed  in 
literature — and  there's  no  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind — he 
feels  that  he  ought  to  give  it  up  and  go  into  something 
in  which  the  financial  prospects  are  brighter.  I  sug 
gested  a  rich  wife,  but  that  seemed  to  hurt  his  feel 
ings.  He  said  it  would  be  bad  enough  to  marry  a 
girl  that  had  more  than  he  had;  but  to  marry  a  rich 
girl,  when  he  had  only  the  few  hundreds  a  year  that  he 
can  make  writing  stories,  was  an  intolerable  thought. 
And  that's  all  the  more  creditable  to  him  because, 
from  what  I  can  gather,  he  is  desperately  in  love — and 
the  girl  is  potentially  rich." 

"But,"  said  Cynthia,  "what  have  I  to  do  with  all 
this?" 

Her  father  laughed.  "This  young  fellow  didn't 
come  to  me  of  his  own  accord.  I  sent  for  him.  And 
I  must  tell  you  that,  contrary  to  my  expectations,  I  was 
charmed  with  him.  If  I  had  had  a  son  I  should  wish 
him  to  be  just  like  this  youngster." 

Cynthia  was  very  much  puzzled. 
71 


TWO  BUSINESS  WOMEN 

"He  writes  stories?"   she  said. 

"Bully  stories!  But  he  takes  so  much  pains  that 
his  output  is  small." 

"Well,"  said  she,  "what  did  you  tell  him?" 

"I  told  him  to  wait." 

"That's  conservative  advice." 

"As  a  small  boy,"  said  her  father,  "he  was  very 
delicate;  but  now  he's  as  sound  as  a  bell  and  he  looks 
as  strong  as  an  elk." 

Cynthia  rose  to  her  feet,  trembling  slightly. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  him — when  he  was  deli 
cate?" 

"  Consumption." 

She  became  as  it  were  taller — and  vivid  with  beauty. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"In  the  library." 

Cynthia  put  her  hands  on  her  father's  shoulders. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  said;  "his  family  has  come 
into  quite  a  lot  of  money.  He  doesn't  know  it  yet. 
They're  going  to  give  him  enough  to  marry  on.  You 
still  think  he  ought  to  marry — don't  you?" 

They  kissed. 

Cynthia  flew  out  of  the  room,  across  the  hall,  and 
into  the  library. 

They  kissed! 


72 


THE  TRAP 


THE  TRAP 

The  animals  went  in  two  by  two. 
Hurrah!    Hurrah! 

Given  Bower  for  a  last  name,  the  boys  are  bound  to 
call  you  "  Right "  or  "  Left."  They  called  me  "  Right" 
because  I  usually  held  it,  one  way  or  another.  I  was 
shot  with  luck.  No  matter  what  happened,  it  always 
worked  out  to  my  advantage.  All  inside  of  six  months, 
for  instance,  the  mate  fell  overboard  and  I  got  his  job; 
the  skipper  got  drunk  after  weathering  a  cyclone  and 
ran  the  old  Boldero  aground  in  "lily-pad"  weather — 
and  I  got  his.  Then  the  owner  called  me  in  and  said : 
"Captain  Bower,  what  do  you  know  about  Noah's 
Ark ?"  And  I  said:  " Only  that '  the  animals  went  in 
two  by  two.  Hurrah  I  Hurrah ! ' '  And  the  owner 
said :  "  But  how  did  he  feed  'em — specially  the  meat- 
eaters?"  And  I  said:  "He  got  hold  of  a  Hindu  who 
had  his  arm  torn  off  by  a  black  panther  and  who  now 
looks  after  the  same  at  the  Calcutta  Zoo — and  he  put 
it  up  to  him." 

"  The  Bible  doesn't  say  so,"  said  the  owner. 

"Everything  the  Bible  says  is  true,"  said  I.  "But 
there're  heaps  of  true  sayings,  you  know,  that  aren't  in 
it  at  all." 

75 


THE  TRAP 

"Well,"  says  the  owner,  "you  slip  out  to  yon  Zoo 
and  you  put  it  up  to  yon  one-armed  Hindu  that  a  white 
Noah  named  Bower  has  been  ordered  to  carry  pairs  of 
all  the  Indian  fauna  from  Singapore  to  Sydney;  and 
you  tell  him  to  shake  his  black  panther  and  '  come  along 
with/  " 

"What  will  you  pay?"  I  asked. 

The  owner  winked  his  eye.  "  What  will  I  promise  ?  " 
said  he.  "  I  leave  that  to  you." 

But  I  wasn't  bluffed.  The  owner  always  talked 
pagan  and  practised  Christian;  loved  his  little  joke. 
They  called  him  "  Bond"  Hadley  on  the  water-front  to 
remind  themselves  that  his  word  was  just  as  good. 

I  settled  with  Yir  Massir  in  a  long  confab  back  of 
the  snake-house,  and  that  night  Hadley  blew  me  to  Ivy 
Green's  benefit  at  the  opera-house. 

Poor  little  girl!  There  weren't  fifty  in  the  audience. 
She  couldn't  act.  I  mean  she  couldn't  draw.  The 
whole  company  was  on  the  bum  and  stone-broke. 
They'd  scraped  out  of  Australia  and  the  Sandwich  Isl 
ands,  but  it  looked  as  if  they'd  stay  in  Calcutta,  doing 
good  works,  such  as  mending  roads  for  the  public,  to 
the  end  of  time. 

"Ivy  Green  is  a  pretty  name  for  a  girl,"  said  the 
owner. 

"And  Ivy  Green  is  a  pretty  girl,"  I  said;  "and  I'll 
bet  my  horned  soul  she's  a  good  girl." 

76 


THE  TRAP 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  taken  with  her  something 
terrible  at  first  sight.  I'd  often  seen  women  that  I 
wanted,  but  she  was  the  first  girl — and  the  last.  It's 
a  different  sort  of  wanting,  that.  It's  the  good  in  you 
that  wants — instead  of  the  bad. 

Her  little  face  was  like  the  pansies  that  used  to  grow 
in  mother's  dooryard;  and  adooryard  is  the  place  for 
pansies,  not  a  stage.  When  her  act  was  over  the  fifty 
present  did  their  best;  but  I  knew,  when  she'd  finished 
bobbing  little  curtsies  and  smiling  her  pretty  smile, 
she'd  slip  off  to  her  dressing-room  and  cry  like  a  baby. 
I  couldn't  stand  it.  There  were  other  acts  to  come, 
but  I  couldn't  wait. 

"  If  Ivy  Green  is  a  pretty  name  for  a  girl,  Ivy  Bower 
is  a  prettier  name  for  a  woman,"  I  said.  "  I'm  going 
behind." 

He  looked  up,  angry.  Then  he  saw  that  I  didn't 
mean  any  harm  and  he  looked  down.  He  said  noth 
ing.  I  g^t  behind  by  having  the  pull  on  certain  ropes 
in  that  opera-house,  and  I  asked  a  comedian  with  a 
face  like  a  walrus  which  was  Miss  Green's  dressing- 
room. 

"Triend  of  hers?"  he  says. 

"Yes,"  says  I,  "a  friend." 

He  showed  me  which  door  and  I  knocked.  Her 
voice  was  full  of  worry  and  tears. 

"Who's  there?"  she  said. 
77 


THE  TRAP 

"A  friend,"  said  I. 

"  Pass,  friend/1  said  she. 

And  I  took  it  to  mean  "Come  in/'  but  it  didn't. 
Still,  she  wasn't  so  dishabilled  as  to  matter.  She  was 
crying  and  rubbing  off  the  last  of  her  paint. 

"Miss  Green/'  I  said,  "you've  made  me  feel  so 
mean  and  miserable  that  I  had  to  come  and  tell  you. 
My  name  is  Bower.  The  boys  call  me '  Right'  Bower, 
meaning  that  I'm  lucky  and  straight.  It  was  lucky 
for  me  that  I  came  to  your  benefit,  and  I  hope  to  God 
that  it  will  be  lucky  for  you." 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  says — none  too  warm. 

"  As  for  you,  Miss  Green,"  I  said,  "  you're  up  against 
it,  aren't  you?  The  manager's  broke.  You  don't 
know  when  you've  touched  any  salary.  There's  been 
no  balm  in  your  benefit.  What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

This  time  she  looked  me  over  before  she  spoke. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  have  to  ask,"  said  I,  blushing  red,  "  if  you're 
a  good  girl.  It's  just  naturally  obvious.  I  guess  that's 
what  put  me  up  to  butting  in.  I  want  to  help.  Will 
you  answer  three  questions  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Where,"  said  I, "  will  you  get  breakfast  to-morrow  ? 
— lunch  to-morrow  ? — and  dinner  to-morrow  ?  " 

"We  disband  to-night,"  she  said,  "and  I  don't 
know." 

78 


THE  TRAP 

"I  suppose  you  know/'  said  I,  "what  happens  to 
most  white  girls  who  get  stranded  in  Indian  cities?" 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  "  that  people  get  up  against  it 
so  hard  that  they  oughtn't  to  be  blamed  for  anything 
they  do." 

"They  aren't,"  I  said,  "by— Christians;  but  it's 
ugly  just  the  same.  Now ' 

"  And  you,"  she  said,  flaring  up,  "  think  that,  as  long 
as  it's  got  to  be,  it  might  as  well  be  you !  Is  that  your 
song  and  dance,  Mr.  Smarty?" 

I  shook  my  head  and  smiled. 

"Don't  be  a  little  goat!"  I  said;  and  that  seemed  to 
make  her  take  to  me  and  trust  me. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  I  said;  and  I  found  that  it  wasn't 
easy.  "First  place,"  I  said,  "I've  got  some  money 
saved  up.  That  will  keep  you  on  Easy  Street  till  I 
get  back  from  Sydney.  If  by  that  time  nothing's 
turned  up  that  you  want  of  your  own  free  heart  and 
will,  I'll  ask  you  to  pay  me  back  by — by  changing  your 
name." 

She  didn't  quite  follow. 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  gives  you  a  chance  to  look  around 
-^gives  you  one  small  chance  in  a  million  to  light  on 
some  man  you  can  care  for  and  who'll  care  for  you  and 
take  care  of  you.  Failing  that,  it  would  be  fair  enough 
for  you  to  take  me,  failing  a  better.  See?" 

79 


THE  TRAP 

"  You  mean,"  she  said,  "  that  if  things  don't  straight 
en  out,  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  become  Mrs.  Bower 
than  walk  the  streets ?  Is  that  it?" 

I  nodded. 

"But  I  don't  see  your  point  of  view,"  she  cried. 
"  Just  because  you're  sorry  for  a  girl  don't  mean  you 
want  to  make  her  your  wife." 

"It  isn't  sorrowing,"  I  said.  "It's  wanting.  It's 
the  right  kind  of  wanting.  It's  the  wanting  that  would 
rather  wait  than  hurt  you;  that  would  rather  do  with 
out  you  than  hurt  you." 

"And  you'll  trust  me  with  all  your  savings  and  go 
away  to  Australia — and  if  I  find  some  other  man  that 
I  like  better  you'll  let  me  off  from  marrying  you  ?  Is 
that  it?" 

"That's  about  it,"  I  said. 

"  And  suppose,"  says  she,"  that  you  don't  come  back, 
and  nobody  shows  up,  and  the  money  goes  ? " 

That  was  a  new  point  of  view. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "we've  got  to  take  some  chances  in 
this  world." 

"  We  have,"  said  she.  "  And  now  look  here — I  don't 
know  how  much  of  it's  wanting  and  how  much  of  it's 
fear — but  if  you'll  take  chances  I  will." 

She  turned  as  red  as  a  beet  and  looked  away. 

"In  words  of  two  syllables,"  said  I,  "what  do  you 
mean?" 

80 


THE  TRAP 

"I  mean,"  she  said — and  she  was  still  as  red  as  a 
beet,  but  this  time  she  looked  me  in  my  eyes  without  a 
flinch  in  hers — "  that  if  you're  dead  sure  you  want  me 
— are  you  ? — if  you're  dead  sure,  why,  I'll  take  chances 
on  my  wanting  you.  I  believe  every  word  you've  said 
to  me.  Is  that  right?" 

"Every  word,"  I  said.     "That  is  right." 

Then  we  looked  at  each  other  for  a  long  time. 

"What  a  lot  we'll  have  to  tell  each  other,"  she  said, 
"before  we're  really  acquainted.  But  you're  sure? 
You're  quite  sure  ?  " 

"Sure  that  I  want  you?  Yes,"  I  said;  "not  sure 
that  you  ought  not  to  wait  and  think  me  over." 

"You've  begun,"  she  said,  "with  everything  that's 
noble  and  generous.  I  could  never  look  myself  in  the 
face  again  if  I  felt  called  upon  to  begin  by  being  mean." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  think  it  over  ?  "  I  said.  "  Hadn't 
you?" 

But  she  put  her  hands  on  my  shoulders. 

"If  an  angel  with  wings  had  come  with  gifts,"  she 
said,  "  would  I  have  thought  them  over  ?  And  just  be 
cause  your  wings  don't  show " 

"It  isn't  fair,"  I  mumbled.  "I  give  you  a  choice 
between  the  streets  and  me  and  you  feel  forced  to 
choose  me." 

But  she  pulled  my  head  down  and  gave  me  a  quick, 
fierce  kiss. 

81 


THE  TRAP 

"There,"  said  she— "was  that  forced?  Did  you 
force  me  to  do  that?  No,"  she  said;  "you  needn't 
think  you're  the  only  person  in  the  world  that  wants 
another  person.  ...  If  you  go  to  Australia  I  don't 
wait  here.  I  go  too.  If  you  sink  by  the  way,  I  sink. 
And  don't  you  go  to  thinking  you've  made  me  a  one 
sided  bargain.  ...  I  can  cook  for  you  and  mend  for 
you  and  save  for  you.  And  if  you're  sick  I  can  nurse 
you.  And  I  can  black  your  boots." 

"  I  thought,"  said  I,  "  that  you  were  just  a  little  girl 
that  I  wanted,  but  you  turn  out  to  be  the  whole  world 
that  I've  got  to  have.  Slip  the  rest  of  your  canvas  on 
and  I'll  hook  it  up  for  you.  Then  we'll  find  some  one 
to  marry  us — 'nless  you'd  rather  wait." 

"Wait?"  said  she,  turning  her  back  and  standing 
still,  which  most  women  haven't  sense  enough  to  do 
when  a  man's  ten  thumbs  are  trying  to  hook  them  up. 
"I've  been  waiting  all  my  life  for  this — and  you!" 

"  And  I,"  said  I,  splitting  a  thumb-nail,  "  would  go 
through  an  eternity  of  hell  if  I  knew  that  this  was  at 
the  end  of  it — and  you!" 

"  What  is  your  church  ?"  she  asked  of  a  sudden. 

"Same  as  yours,"  I  said,  "which  is " 

"Does  it  matter,"  said  she,  "if  God  is  in  it?  Do 
you  pray?" 

"No,"  said  I;  "do  you?" 

"Always,"  she  said,  "before  I  go  to  bed." 
82 


THE  TRAP 

"Then  I  will,"  said  I;  " always— before  we  do." 

"Sometimes,"  she  said,  "Fve  been  shaken  about 
God.  Was  to-night — before  you  came.  But  He's 
made  good— hasn't  He?" 

"  He  has,"  I  said.  "  And  now  you're  hooked  up. 
And  I  wish  it  was  to  do  all  over  again.  I  loved 
doing  it." 

"Did  you?"  said  she. 

Her  eyes  were  bright  and  brave  like  two  stars.  She 
slipped  her  hand  through  my  arm  and  we  marched  out 
of  the  opera-house.  Half  a  dozen  young  globe-trotters 
were  at  the  stage-door  waiting  to  take  a  chance  on 
Miss  Green  as  she  came  out,  but  none  of  them  spoke. 
We  headed  for  the  nearest  city  directory  and  looked  up 
a  minister. 


II 


I  had  married  April;  she  cried  when  she  thought 
she  wasn't  good  enough  for  me;  she  smiled  like  the  sun 
when  I  swore  she  was. 

I  had  married  June;  she  was  like  an  armful  of  roses. 

We  weren't  two;  we  were  one.  What  alloy  does 
gold  make  mixed  with  brass  ?  We  were  that  alloy.  I 
was  the  brass. 

We  travelled  down  to  Singapore  first-class,  with  one- 
armed  Yir  Massir  to  look  after  us — down  the  old  Hoogli 

83 


THE  TRAP 

with  the  stubs  of  half-burned  Hindus  bobbing  along 
side,  crows  sitting  on  'em  and  tearing  off  strips.  We 
ran  aground  on  all  the  regular  old  sand-bars  that  are 
never  twice  in  the  same  place;  and  one  dusk  we  saw 
tigers  come  out  of  the  jungle  to  drink.  We'd  both 
travelled  quite  some,  but  you  wouldn't  have  thought  it. 
Ivy  Bower  and  Right  Bower  had  just  run  away  from 
school  for  to  see  the  world  "so  new  and  all." 

Some  honey-moons  a  man  keeps  finding  out  things 
about  his  wife  that  he  don't  like — little  tricks  of  tem 
per  and  temperature;  but  I  kept  finding  out  things 
about  mine  that  I'd  never  even  dared  to  hope  for.  I 
went  pretty  near  crazy  with  love  of  her.  At  first  she 
was  a  child  that  had  had  a  wicked,  cruel  nightmare — 
and  I'd  happened  to  be  about  to  comfort  her  when  she 
waked  and  to  soothe  her.  Then  she  got  over  her  scare 
and  began  to  play  at  matrimony,  putting  on  little 
airs  and  dignities — just  like  a  child  playing  grown-up. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  it  came  to  her,  that  tremendous 
love  that  some  women  have  for  some  of  us  dogs  of  men. 
It  was  big  as  a  storm,  but  it  wasn't  too  big  for  her. 
Nothing  that's  noble  and  generous  was  too  big  for  her; 
nor  was  any  way  of  showing  her  love  too  little.  Any 
little  mole-hill  of  thoughtfulness  from  me  was  changed 
— presto! — into  a  chain  o'  mountains;  but  she  thought 
in  mountains  and  made  mole-hills  of  'em. 

We  steamed  into  Singapore  and  I  showed  her  the 
84 


THE  TRAP 

old  Boldero,  that  was  to  be  our  home,  laid  against  the 
Copra  Wharf,  waiting  to  be  turned  into  an  ark.  The 
animals  weren't  all  collected  and  we  had  a  day  or  two 
to  chase  about  and  enjoy  ourselves;  but  she  wasn't 
for  expensive  pleasures. 

"Wait/*  she  said,  "till  you're  a  little  tired  of  me; 
but  now,  when  we're  happy  just  to  be  together  walking 
in  the  dust,  what's  the  use  of  disbursing?" 

"If  we  save  till  I'm  tired  of  you,"  says  I,  "we'll  be 
rich." 

"  Rich  it  is,  then,"  said  she,  "  for  those  who  will  need 
it  more." 

"  But,"  says  I,  "  the  dictionary  says  that  a  skunk  is 
a  man  that  economizes  on  his  honey-moon." 

"If  you're  bound  to  blow  yourself,"  says  she,  "let's 
trot  down  to  the  Hongkong-Shanghai  Bank  and  buy 
some  shares  in  something." 

"But,"  says  I,  "you  have  no  engagement  ring." 

"  And  I'm  not  engaged, "  says  she.  "  I'm  a  married 
woman." 

"You're  a  married  child." 

"  My  husband's  arm  around  my  waist  is  my  ring," 
says  she;  "  his  heart  is  my  jewel." 

Even  if  it  had  been  broad  daylight  and  people  look 
ing,  I'd  have  put  her  ring  on  her  at  that.  But  it  was  dark, 
in  a  park  of  trees  and  benches — just  like  Central  Park. 

"  With  this  ring,"  says  I, "  I  thee  guard  from  all  evil." 
85 


THE  TRAP 

• 

"But  there  is  no  evil,"  said  she.  "The  world's  all 
new;  it's  been  given  a  fresh  start.  There's  no  evil. 
The  apple's  back  on  the  tree  of  knowledge.  Eden's 
come  back — and  it's  spring  in  Eden." 

"And  among  other  items,"  says  I,  "that  we've  in 
voiced  for  Sydney  is  a  python  thirty  feet  long." 

"Look!"  says  she. 

A  girl  sat  against  one  of  the  stems  of  a  banyan,  and 
a  Tommy  lay  on  his  back  with  his  head  in  her  lap.  She 
was  playing  with  his  hair.  You  could  just  see  them  for 
the  dark. 

"  'And  they  lived  on  the  square  like  a  true  married 
pair,'"  says  I. 

"Can't  people  be  naughty  and  good?"  says  she. 

"No,"  says  I;  "good  and  naughty  only." 

"Suppose"  says  she,  "you  and  I  felt  about  each 
other  the  way  we  do,  but  you  were  married  to  a  rich 
widow  in  Lisbon  and  I  was  married  to  a  wicked  old 
Jew  in  Malta — would  that  make  you  Satan  and  me 
Jezebel?" 

"No,"  says  I;  "only  me.  Nothing  could  change 
you."  She  thought  a  little. 

"No,"  says  she;  "I  don't  think  anything  could. 
But  there  isn't  any  wicked  old  Jew.  You  know  that." 

"And  you  know  about  the  rich  widow?" 

"What  about  her?"  This  said  sharp,  with  a  tug 
at  my  arm  to  unwrap  it. 

86 


THE  TRAP 

"She  was  born  in  Singapore,"  said  I,  "of  a  silly 
goose  by  an  idle  thought.  And  two  minutes  later  she 
died." 

"  There's  nothing  that  can  ever  hurt  us — is  there  ? — 
nothing  that's  happened  and  gone  before?" 

Man  that  is  born  of  woman  ought  not  to  have  that 
question  put  up  to  him;  but  she  didn't  let  me  answer. 

"  Because,  if  there  is,"  she  said,  "  it's  lucky  I'm  here 
to  look  after  us." 

"Could  I  do  anything  that  you  wouldn't  forgive?" 

"  If  you  turned  away  from  me,"  she  said,  "  I'd  die — 
but  I'd  forgive." 

Next  daylight  she  was  leaning  on  the  rail  of  the 
Boldero  watching  the  animals  come  over  the  side  and 
laughing  to  see  them  turn  their  heads  to  listen  to  what 
old  Yir  Massir  said  to  them  in  Hindustani.  He  spoke 
words  of  comfort,  telling  them  not  to  be  afraid;  and 
they  listened.  Even  Bahut,  the  big  elephant,  as  the 
slings  tightened  and  he  swung  dizzily  heavenward, 
cocked  his  moth-eaten  ears  to  listen  and  refrained  from 
whimpering,  though  the  pit  of  his  stomach  was  cold 
with  fear;  and  he  worked  his  toes  when  there  was  noth 
ing  under  them  but  water. 

"  The  elephant  is  the  strongest  of  all  things,"  I  said, 
"  and  the  most  gentle." 

Her  little  fingers  pressed  my  arm,  which  was  like 
marble  in  those  days. 

"No,"  said  she—" the  man!" 
87 


THE  TRAP 


III 


That  voyage  was  good,  so  far  as  it  went,  but  there's 
no  use  talking  about  it,  because  what  came  afterward 
was  better.  We'd  no  sooner  backed  off  the  Copra 
Wharf  and  headed  down  the  straits,  leaving  a  trail  of 
smoke  and  tiger  smell,  than  Ivy  went  to  house-keeping 
on  the  Boldero.  There  are  great  house-keepers,  just 
as  there  are  great  poets  and  actors.  It  takes  genius; 
that's  all.  And  Ivy  had  that  kind  of  genius.  Yir 
Massir  had  a  Hindu  saying  that  fitted  her  like  a 
glove.  He  looked  in  upon  her  work  of  preparing  and 
systematizing  for  the  cramped  weeks  at  sea  and  said: 
"The  little  mem-sahib  is  a  born  woman." 

That's  just  what  she  is.  There  are  born  idiots  and 
born  leaders.  Some  are  born  male  and  some  female; 
but  a  born  woman  is  the  rarest  thing  in  the  world, 
the  most  useful  and  the  most  precious.  She  had  never 
kept  house,  but  there  was  nothing  for  her  to  learn. 
She  worked  things  so  that  whenever  I  could  come  off 
duty  she  was  at  leisure  to  give  all  her  care  and  thought 
to  me. 

There  was  never  a  millionaire  who  had  more  speck- 
less  white  suits  than  I  had,  though  it's  a  matter  almost 
of  routine  for  officers  to  go  dirty  on  anything  but  the 
swell  liners  Holes  in  socks  grew  together  under  her 
fingers,  so  that  you  had  to  look  close  to  see  where 

88 


THE  TRAP 

they'd  been.  She  even  kept  a  kind  of  dwarf  hibiscus, 
with  bright  red  flowers,  alive  and  flourishing  in  the 
thick  salt  air;  and  she  was  always  slipping  into  the 
galley  to  give  a  new,  tasty  turn  to  the  old  sea-standbys. 
The  crew,  engineer,  and  stokers  were  all  Chinks. 
Hadley  always  put  his  trust  in  them  and  they  come 
cheap.  We  had  forty  coolies  who  berthed  forward, 
going  out  on  contract  to  work  on  a  new  government 
dry-dock  at  Paiulu.  I  don't  mind  a  Chink  myself,  so 
long  as  he  keeps  his  habits  to  himself  and  doesn't 
over-smoke;  but  they're  not  sociable.  Except  for  Yir 
Massir  and  myself,  there  was  no  one  aboard  for  Ivy 
to  talk  to.  Yir  Massir's  duty  kept  him  busy  with  the 
health  of  the  collection  for  the  Sydney  Zoo,  and  Ivy 
found  time  to  help,  to  advise,  and  to  learn.  They 
made  as  much  fuss  between  them  over  the  beasts  as 
if  they  had  been  babies;  and  the  donkey-engine  was 
busy  most  of  the  day  hoisting  cages  to  the  main-deck 
and  lowering  them  again,  so  that  the  beasts  could  have 
a  better  look  at  the  sea  and  a  bit  of  sun  and  fresh  air. 
As  it  was,  a  good  many  of  the  beasts  and  all  the  birds 
roomed  on  the  main-deck  all  the  time.  Sometimes 
Yir  Massir  would  take  out  a  chetah — a  nasty,  snarl 
ing,  pin-headed  piece  of  long-legged  malice— and  walk 
him  up  and  down  on  a  dog-chain,  same  as  a  woman 
walks  her  King  Charlie.  He  gave  the  monkeys  all 
the  liberty  they  could  use  and  abuse;  it  was  good 


THE  TRAP 

sport  to  see  them  chase  themselves  and  each  other 
over  the  masts  and  upper-works. 

The  most  you  can  say  of  going  out  with  a  big  ton 
nage  of  beasts  is  that,  if  you're  healthy  and  have  no 
nerves,  you  can  just  stand  it.  Sometimes  they'll  all 
howl  together  for  five  or  six  hours  at  a  time;  some 
times  they'll  all  be  logy  and  still  as  death,  except 
one  tiger,  who  can't  make  his  wants  understood  and 
who'll  whine  and  rumble  about  them  all  round  the 
clock.  I  don't  know  which  is  worse,  the  chorus  or 
the  solo.  And  then,  of  course,  the  smell  side  to  the 
situation  isn't  a  matter  for  print.  If  I  say  that  we 
had  twenty  hogsheads  of  disinfectants  and  deodor 
izers  along  it's  all  you  need  know.  Anyhow,  accord 
ing  to  Yir  Massir,  it  was  the  smell  that  killed  big 
Bahut's  mate.  And  she'd  been  brought  up  in  an 
Indian  village  and  ought  to  have  been  used  to  all  the 
smells,  from  A  to  Z. 

One  elephant  more  or  less  doesn't  matter  to  me, 
especially  when  it's  insured,  but  Yir  Massir's  grief 
and  self-reproach  were  appalling;  and  Ivy  felt  badly 
too.  It  was  as  much  for  her  sake  as  Yir  Massir's 
that  I  read  a  part  of  the  burial  service  out  of  the 
prayer-book  and  committed  the  body  of  "this  our 
sister"  to  the  deep.  It  may  have  been  sacrilegious, 
but  I  don't  care.  It  comforted  Ivy  some  and  Yir 
Massir  a  heap.  And  it  did  this  to  me,  that  I  can't 

90 


THE  TRAP 

look  at  a  beast  now  without  thinking  that — well,  that 
there's  not  such  an  awful  lot  of  difference  between 
two  legs  and  four,  and  that  maybe  God  put  Himself 
out  just  as  much  to  make  one  as  the  other. 

We  swung  her  overside  by  heavy  tackle.  What 
with  the  roll  of  the  ship  and  the  fact  that  she  swung 
feet  down,  she  looked  alive;  and  the  funeral  looked 
more  like  a  drowning  than  a  burial. 

We  had  no  weights  to  sink  her;  and  when  I  gave 
the  word  to  cut  loose  she  made  a  splash  like  a  small 
tidal  wave  and  then  floated. 

We  could  see  her  for  an  hour,  like  a  bit  of  a  slate- 
colored  island  with  white  gulls  sitting  on  it. 

And  that  night  Yir  Massir  waited  on  us  looking 
like  some  old  crazy  loon  out  of  the  Bible.  He'd  made 
himself  a  prickly  shirt  of  sackcloth  and  had  smeared 
his  black  head  and  brown  face  with  gray  ashes.  Big 
Bahut  whimpered  all  night  and  trumpeted  as  if  his 
heart  were  broken. 


IV 


I've  often  noticed  that  when  things  happen  it's  in 
bunches.  The  tenth  day  south  of  the  line  we  had  a 
look  at  almost  all  the  sea-events  that  are  made  into 
woodcuts  for  the  high-school  geographies.  For  days 
we'd  seen  nothing  except  sapphire-blue  sea,  big  swells 

91 


THE  TRAP 

rolling  under  a  satin  finish  without  breaking  through, 
and  a  baby-blue  sky.  On  the  morning  of  the  tenth 
the  sea  was  streaked  with  broad,  oily  bands,  like  State 
roads,  and  near  and  far  were  whales  travelling  south 
at  about  ten  knots  an  hour,  as  if  they  had  a  long  way 
to  go. 

We  saw  heaps  of  porpoises  and  heaps  of  flying-fish; 
some  birds;  unhewn  timber — a  nasty  lot  of  it — and 
big  floats  of  sea-weed.  We  saw  a  whale  being  pounded 
to  death  by  a  killer;  and  in  the  afternoon  as  perfect 
an  example  of  a  brand-new  coral  island  as  was  ever 
seen.  It  looked  like  a  ring  of  white  snow  floating  on 
the  water,  and  inside  the  ring  was  a  careened  two- 
master — just  the  ribs  and  stumps  left.  There  was  a 
water-spout  miles  off  to  port,  and  there  was  a  kind  of 
electric  jump  and  thrill  to  the  baked  air  that  made 
these  things  seem  important,  like  omens  in  ancient 
times.  Besides,  the  beasts,  from  Bahut  the  elephant 
to  little  Assam  the  mongoose,  put  in  the  whole  day 
at  practising  the  noises  of  complaint  and  uneasiness. 
Then,  directly  it  was  dark,  we  slipped  into  a  "white 
sea."  That's  a  rare  sight  and  it  has  never  been  very 
well  explained.  The  water  looks  as  though  it  had 
been  mixed  with  a  quantity  of  milk,  but  when  you 
dip  it  up  it's  just  water. 

About  midnight  we  ran  out  of  this  and  Ivy  and  I 
turned  in.  The  sky  was  clear  as  a  bell  and  even  the 

92 


THE  TRAP 

beasts  were  quiet.  I  hadn't  been  asleep  ten  minutes 
and  Ivy  not  at  all,  when  all  at  once  hell  broke  loose. 
There  was  a  bump  that  nearly  drove  my  head  through 
a  bulkhead;  though  only  half  awake  I  could  feel  to 
the  cold  marrow  of  my  bones  that  the  old  Boldero 
was  down  by  the  head.  The  beasts  knew  it  and  the 
Chinks.  Never  since  Babel  was  there  such  pande 
monium  on  earth  or  sea.  By  a  struck  match  I  saw 
Ivy  running  out  of  the  cabin  and  slipping  on  her 
bath-wrapper  as  she  went.  I  called  to  her,  but  she 
didn't  answer.  I  didn't  want  to  think  of  anything 
but  Ivy,  but  I  had  to  let  her  go  and  think  of  the  ship. 

There  wasn't  much  use  in  thinking.  The  old  Bol 
dero  was  settling  by  the  head  and  the  pumps  couldn't 
hold  up  the  inflood.  In  fifteen  minutes  I  knew  that 
it  was  all  up  with  us — or  all  down,  rather — and  I  or 
dered  the  boats  over  and  began  to  run  about  like  a 
maniac,  looking  for  Ivy  and  calling  to  her.  And  why 
do  you  suppose  I  couldn't  find  her?  She  was  hiding 
— hiding  from  me! 

She'd  heard  of  captains  of  sinking  ships  sending  off 
their  wives  and  children  and  sweethearts  and  staying 
behind  to  drown  out  of  a  mistaken  notion  of  duty. 
She'd  got  it  into  her  head  that  I  was  that  kind  of  cap 
tain  and  she'd  hid  so  that  she  couldn't  be  sent  away; 
but  it  was  all  my  fault  really.  If  I'd  hurried  her  on 
deck  the  minute  I  did  find  her  we'd  have  been  in  time 

93 


THE  TRAP 

to  leave  with  the  boats.  But  I  stopped  for  expla 
nations  and  to  give  her  a  bit  of  a  lecture;  so  when 
we  got  on  deck  there  were  the  boats  swarming  with 
Chinks  slipping  off  to  windward — and  there  at  our 
feet  was  Yir  Massir,  lying  in  his  own  blood  and  brains, 
a  wicked,  long  knife  in  his  hand  and  the  thread  out- 
piece  of  a  Chink's  pigtail  between  his  teeth. 

I  like  to  think  that  he'd  tried  to  make  them  wait  for 
us,  but  I  don't  know.  Anyhow,  there  we  were,  alone 
on  a  sinking  deck  and  all  through  with  earthly  affairs 
as  I  reckoned  it.  But  Ivy  reckoned  differently. 

"  Why  are  they  rowing  in  that  direction  ?  "  she  says. 
"They  won't  get  anywhere." 

"Why  not?"  says  I. 

She  jerked  her  thumb  to  leeward. 

"Don't  you  feel  that  it's  over  there?— the  land?" 
she  says.  "Just  over  there." 

"Why,  no,  bless  you!"  says  I.  "I  don't  have  any 
feeling  about  it.  ...  Now  then,  we've  got  to  hustle 
around  and  find  something  that  will  float  us.  We 
want  to  get  out  of  this  before  the  old  Boldero  goes  and 
sucks  us  down  after." 

"There's  the  life-raft,"  says  she;  "they  left  that." 

"Yes,"  says  I;  "if  we  can  get  it  overboard.  It 
weighs  a  ton.  You  make  up  a  bundle  of  food  on  the 
jump,  Ivy,  and  I'll  try  to  rig  a  tackle." 

When  the  raft  was  floating  quietly  alongside  I  felt 
94 


THE  TRAP 

better.  It  looked  then  as  if  we  were  to  have  a  little 
more  run  for  our  money. 

We  worked  like  a  couple  of  furies  loading  on  food 
and  water,  Ivy  lowering  and  I  lashing  fast. 

"There,"  says  I  at  last;  "she  won't  take  any  more. 
Come  along.  I  can  help  you  down  better  from  here." 

"  We've  got  to  let  the  beasts  loose,"  says  she. 

"Why?  "says  I. 

"  Oh,  just  to  give  'em  a  chance,"  she  says. 

So  I  climbs  back  to  where  she  was  standing. 

"It's  rot!"  I  says.     "But  if  you  say  so " 

"  There's  loads  of  time,"  says  she — "  we're  not  set 
tling  so  fast.  Besides,  even  if  I'm  wrong  about  the 
land,  they'll  know.  They'll  show  us  which  way  to 
go.  Big  Bahut,  he  knows." 

"It  don't  matter,"  I  says.  "We  can't  work  the 
raft  any  way  but  to  leeward — not  one  man  can't." 

"If  the  beasts  go  the  other  way,"  says  she,  "one 
man  must  try  and  one  woman." 

"  Oh,  we'll  try,"  says  I,  "  right  enough.     We'll  try." 

The  first  beast  we  loosed  was  the  python.  Ivy  did 
the  loosing  and  I  stood  by  with  a  big  rifle  to  guard 
against  trouble;  but,  bless  you,  there  was  no  need. 
One  and  all,  the  beasts  knew  the  old  Boldero  was 
doomed,  and  one  and  all  they  cried  and  begged  and 
made  eyes  and  signs  to  be  turned  loose.  As  for 
knowing  where  the  nearest  land  was — well,  if  you'd 

95 


THE  TRAP 

seen  the  python,  when  he  came  to  the  surface,  make 
a  couple  of  loopy  turns  to  get  his  bearings  and  his 
wriggles  in  order,  and  then  hike  off  to  leeward  in  a 
bee-line — you'd  have  believed  that  he — well,  that  he 
knew  what  he  was  talking  about. 

And  the  beasts,  one  and  all,  big  and  little,  the  min 
ute  they  were  loosed,  wanted  to  get  overboard — even 
the  cats;  and  off  they  went  to  leeward  in  the  first  flush 
of  dawn,  horned  heads,  cat  heads,  pig  heads — the 
darnedest  game  of  follow-my-leader  that  ever  the 
skies  looked  down  on.  And  the  birds,  white  and 
colored,  streaked  out  over  the  beasts.  There  was  a 
kind  of  wonder  to  it  all  that  eased  the  pinch  of  fear. 
Ivy  clapped  her  hands  and  jumped  up  and  down  like 
a  child  when  it  sees  the  grand  entry  in  Buffalo  Bill's 
show  for  the  first  time — or  the  last,  for  that  matter. 

There  was  some  talk  of  taking  a  tow-line  from  around 
Bahut's  neck  to  the  raft;  but  the  morning  breeze  was 
freshening  and  with  a  sail  rigged  the  raft  would  swim 
pretty  fast  herself.  Anyway,  we  couldn't  fix  it  to  get 
big  Bahut  overboard.  The  best  we  could  do  was  to 
turn  him  loose,  open  all  the  hatches,  and  trust  to  his 
finding  a  way  out  when  the  B older o  settled. 

He  did,  bless  him!  We  weren't  two  hundred  yards 
clear  when  the  Boldero  gave  a  kind  of  shudder  and 
went  down  by  the  bows,  Bahut  yelling  bloody  murder. 
Then,  just  when  we'd  given  him  up  for  lost,  he  shot 

96 


THE  TRAP 

up  from  the  depths,  half-way  out  of  water.  After 
blowing  his  nose  and  getting  his  bearings  he  came 
after  the  raft  like  a  good  old  tugboat. 

We  stood  up,  Ivy  and  I  did,  and  cheered  him  as  he 
caught  up  with  us  and  foamed  by. 

The  worst  kind  of  remembering  is  remembering 
what  you've  forgotten.  I  got  redder  and  redder.  It 
didn't  seem  as  if  I  could  tell  Ivy;  but  I  did.  First  I 
says,  hopeful: 

"Have  you  forgotten  anything?" 

She  shakes  her  head. 

"I  have,"  says  I.  "I've  left  my  rifle,  but  I've  got 
plenty  of  cartridges.  I've  got  a  box  of  candles,  but 
I've  forgotten  to  bring  matches.  A  nice,  thoughtful 
husband  you've  got!" 


The  beasts  knew. 

There  was  land  just  around  the  first  turn  of  the 
world — land  that  had  what  might  be  hills  when  you 
got  to  'em  and  that  was  pale  gray  against  the  sun,  with 
all  the  upper-works  gilded;  but  it  wasn't  big  land. 
You  could  see  the  north  and  south  limits;  and  the 
trees  on  the  hills  could  probably  see  the  ocean  to  the 
east. 

97 


THE  TRAP 

They  were  funny  trees,  those;  and  others  just  like 
them  had  come  down  to  the  cove  to  meet  us  when  we 
landed.  They  were  a  kind  of  pine  and  the  branches 
grew  in  layers,  with  long  spaces  between.  Since  then 
I've  seen  trees  just  like  them,  but  very  little,  in  florists' 
windows;  only  the  florists'  trees  have  broad  scarlet 
sashes  round  their  waists,  by  way  of  decoration,  maybe, 
or  out  of  deference  to  Anthony  Comstock. 

The  cove  had  been  worked  out  by  a  brook  that  came 
loafing  down  a  turfy  valley,  with  trees  single  and  in 
spinneys,  for  all  the  world  like  an  English  park;  and 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  valley,  cutting  the  island  in 
half  lengthwise,  as  we  learned  later,  the  little  wooded 
hills  rolled  north  and  south,  and  low  spurs  ran  out 
from  them,  so  as  to  make  the  valley  a  valley  instead 
of  a  plain. 

There  were  flocks  of  goats  in  the  valley,  which  was 
what  made  the  grass  so  turfy,  I  suppose;  and  our  own 
deer  and  antelopes  were  browsing  near  them,  friendly 
as  you  please.  Near  at  hand  big  Bahut,  who  had 
been  the  last  but  us  to  land,  was  quietly  munching 
the  top  of  a  broad-leafed  tree  that  he'd  pulled  down; 
but  the  cats  and  riffraff  had  melted  into  the  landscape. 
So  had  the  birds,  except  a  pair  of  jungle-fowl,  who'd 
found  seed  near  the  cove  and  were  picking  it  up  as 
fast  as  they  could  and  putting  it  away. 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  it's  an  island,  sure,  Ivy.  The  first 
98 


THE  TRAP 

thing  to  do  is  to  find  out  who  lives  on  it,  owns  it,  and 
dispenses  its  hospitality,  and  make  up  to  them." 

But  she  shook  her  head  and  said  seriously: 

"I've  a  feeling,  Right,"  she  says — "a  kind  of  hunch 
— that  there's  nobody  on  it  but  us." 

I  laughed  at  her  then,  but  half  a  day's  tramping 
proved  that  she  was  right.  I  tell  you  women  have 
ways  of  knowing  things  that  we  men  haven't.  The 
fact  is,  civilization  slides  off  'em  like  water  off  a  duck; 
and  at  heart  and  by  instinct  they  are  people  of  the 
cave-dwelling  period — on  cut-and-dried  terms  with 
ghosts  and  spirits,  all  the  unseen  sources  of  knowledge 
that  man  has  grown  away  from. 

I  had  sure  proofs  of  this  in  the  way  Ivy  took  to  the 
cave  we  found  in  a  bunch  of  volcano  rock  that  lifted 
sheer  out  of  the  cove  and  had  bright  flowers  smiling 
out  of  all  its  pockets.  No  society  lady  ever  entered 
her  brand-new  marble  house  at  Newport  with  half  the 
happiness. 

Ivy  was  crazy  about  the  cave  and  never  tired  of  point 
ing  out  its  advantages.  She  went  to  house-keeping 
without  any  of  the  utensils,  as  keen  and  eager  as  she'd 
gone  to  it  on  the  poor  old  Boldero,  where  at  least  there 
were  pots  and  pans  and  pepper. 

We  had  grub  to  last  a  few  weeks,  a  pair  of  blankets, 
the  clothes  we  stood  in,  and  an  axe.  I  had,  besides, 
a  heavy  clasp-knife,  a  watch,  and  seven  sovereigns. 

99 


THE  TRAP 

The  first   thing  Ivy   insisted   on   was  a  change  of 
clothes. 

"These  we  stand  in,"  says  she,  "are  the  only  pre 
sentable  things  we've  got,  and  Heaven  only  knows 
how  long  they've  got  to  last  us  for  best." 

"  We  could  throw  modesty  to  the  winds,"  I  suggested. 

"  Of  course  you  can  do  as  you  please,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  care  one  way  or  the  other  about  the  modesty; 
but  I've  got  a  skin  that  looks  on  the  sun  with  distinct 
aversion,  and  I  don't  propose  to  go  through  a  course  of 
yellow  blisters — and  then  turn  black." 

"I've  seen  islanders  weave  cloth  out  of  palm  fibre 
— most  any  kind,"  I  said.  "It's  clumsy  and  airy; 
but  if  you  think  it  would  do " 

"It  sounds  scratchy." 

"  It  is,  but  it's  good  for  the  circulation." 

Well,  we  made  a  kind  of  cloth  and  cut  it  into  shapes, 
and  knotted  the  shapes  together  with  more  fibre;  then 
we  folded  up  our  best  and  only  Sunday-go-to-meeting 
suits  and  put  the  fibre  things  on;  and  then  we  went 
down  to  the  cove  to  look  at  ourselves  in  the  water. 
And  Ivy  laughed. 

"We're  not  clothed,"  she  said;  "we're  thatched; 
and  yet — and  yet — it's  accident,  of  course,  but  this 
skirt  has  got  a  certain  hang  that " 

"Whatever  that  skirt's  got,"  I  said,  "these  pants 
haven't;  but  if  you're  happy  I  am." 

100 


THE  TRAP   ;'.\;,,; 

Well,  there's  worse  situations  than  desert-islanding 
it  with  the  one  woman  in  the  world.  I  even  know 
one  man  who  claims  he  was  cast  away  with  a  perfect 
stranger  that  he  hated  the  sight  of  at  first — a  terribly 
small-minded,  conventional  woman — and  still  he  had 
the  time  of  his  life.  They  got  to  like  each  other  over 
a  mutual  taste  for  cribbage,  which  they  played  for 
sea-shells,  yellow  with  a  pink  edge,  until  the  woman 
went  broke  and  got  heavily  in  debt  to  the  man.  He 
was  nice  about  it  and  let  her  off.  He  says  the  affair 
must  have  ended  in  matrimony,  only  she  took  a  month 
to  think  it  over;  during  that  month  they  were  picked 
up  and  carried  to  Honolulu;  then  they  quarrelled  and 
never  saw  each  other  again. 

"Ivy,"  said  I  one  day,  "we'll  be  picked  up  by  a 
passing  steamer  some  day,  of  course,  but  meanwhile 
I'd  rather  be  here  with  you  than  any  place  I  can  name." 

"It's  Eden,"  she  said,  "and  I'd  like  to  live  like  this 
always.  But " 

"But  what?" 

"But  people  grow  old,"  she  said,  "and  one  dies 
before  another.  That's  what's  wrong  with  Eden." 

I  laughed  at  her. 

"  Old!  You  and  I  ?  We'll  cross  that  bridge  when 
we  come  to  it,  Ivy  Bower." 

"Right  Bower,"  says  she,  "you  don't  under 
stand " 

101 


THE  TRAP 

"  How  not  understand  ?  " 

"You  don't  understand  that  Right  Bower  and  Ivy 
Bower  aren't  the  only  people  on  this  island." 

She  didn't  turn  a  fiery  red  and  bolt — the  way  young 
wives  do  in  stories.  She  looked  at  me  with  steady, 
brave,  considering  eyes. 

"  Don't  worry,  dear,"  she  says  after  a  time;  "  every 
thing  will  be  all  right.  I  know  it  will." 

"I  know  it  too."     I  lied. 

Know  it?     I  was  cold  with  fright. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  said  she.  "And — and  mean 
while  there's  dinner  to  be  got  ready — and  you  can 
have  a  go  at  your  firesticks." 

It  was  my  ambition  to  get  fire  by  friction.  Now  and 
then  I  got  the  sticks  to  smoke  and  I  hoped  that"prac- 
tice  would  give  me  the  little  extra  speed  and  cunning 
that  makes  for  flame.  I'd  always  been  pretty  good 
at  games,  if  a  little  slow  to  learn. 


VI 


You'd  think  anxiety  about  Ivy'd  have  been  the 
hardest  thing  to  bear  in  the  life  we  were  living;  and 
so  it  would  have  been  if  she'd  showed  any  anxiety 
about  herself.  Not  she.  You  might  have  thought 
she  was  looking  forward  to  a  Christmas-box  from 

102 


THE  TRAP 

home.  If  she  was  ever  scared  it  was  when  I  wasn't 
looking.  No — it  was  the  beasts  that  made  us  anxious. 

At  first  we'd  go  for  long  walks  and  make  explora 
tions  up  and  down  the  island.  The  beasts  hid  from 
us  according  to  the  wild  nature  that's  in  them.  You 
could  only  tell  from  fresh  tracks  in  damp  places  that 
they  hadn't  utterly  disappeared.  Now  and  then  we 
saw  deer  and  antelopes  far  off;  and  at  night,  of  course, 
there  was  always  something  doing  in  the  way  of  a 
chorus.  Beasts  that  gave  our  end  of  the  island  the 
go-by  daytimes  paid  us  visits  nights  and  sat  under  the 
windows,  you  may  say,  and  sang  their  songs. 

It  seemed  natural  after  a  time  to  be  cooped  up  in  a 
big  green  prison  with  a  lot  of  loose  wild  things  that 
could  bite  and  tear  you  to  pieces  if  they  thought  of  it. 
We  Were  hard  to  scare.  What  scared  me  first  was 
this:  When  we  got  to  the  island  it  was  alive  with  goats. 
Well,  these  just  casually  disappeared.  Then,  one 
morning,  bright  and  early,  I  came  on  the  big  python 
in  the  act  of  swallowing  a  baby  antelope.  It  gave  me 
a  horrid  start  and  set  me  thinking.  How  long  could 
the  island  support  a  menagerie?  What  would  the 
meat-eaters  do  when  they'd  killed  off  all  the  easy 
meat — finished  up  the  deer  and  antelopes  and  all? 
Would  they  fight  it  out  among  themselves — big  tiger 
eat  little  tiger — until  only  the  fittest  one  survived? 
And  what  would  that  fittest  one  do  if  he  got  good  and 

103 


THE  TRAP 

hungry  and  began  to  think  that  I'd  make  a  square 
meal  for  him — or  Ivy  ? 

I  reached  two  conclusions — and  the  cave  about  the 
same  time.  First,  I  wouldn't  tell  Ivy  I  was  scared. 
Second,  I'd  make  fire  by  friction  or  otherwise — or  bust. 
Once  I  got  fire,  I'd  never  let  it  go  out.  I  set  to  work 
with  the  firesticks  right  off,  and  Ivy  came  and  stood 
by  and  looked  on. 

"  Never  saw  you  put  so  much  elbow-grease  into  any 
thing,"  she  said.  "  What's  the  matter  with  you,  any 
way?" 

"It's  a  game,"  I  grunted,  "and  these  two  fellows 
will  have  me  beat  if  I  don't  look  lively." 

"  Right  Bower,"  she  says  then,  slow  and  deliberate, 
"  I  can  see  you're  upside  down  about  something.  Tell 
Ivy." 

"Look,"  says  I — "smoke!  I  never  got  it  so  quick 
before."  I  spun  the  pointed  stick  between  the  palms 
of  my  hands  harder  than  ever  and  gloated  over  the 
wisp  of  smoke  that  came  from  where  it  was  boring 
into  the  flat  stick. 

"Make  a  bow,"  says  Ivy.  "Loop  the  bowstring 
round  the  hand-piece  and  you'll  get  more  friction  with 
less  work." 

"By  gorry!"  says  I;  "you're  right.  I  remember  a 
picture  in  a  geography — 'Native  Drilling  a  Conch 
Shell.'  Fool  that  I  am  to  forget!" 

104 


THE  TRAP 

"  Guess  you  and  I  learned  out  of  the  same  geogra 
phy,"  said  Ivy. 

"  Only  I  didn't  learn,"  said  I.  "  I'm  off  to  cut  some 
thing  tough  to  make  the  bow." 

"Don't  go  far,"  she  says. 

"Why  not?"  said  I — the  sporty  way  a  man  does 
when  he  pretends  that  he's  going  to  take  a  night  off 
with  the  boys  and  play  poker. 

"  Because,"  she  says  smiling,  "  I'm  afraid  the  beasts 
will  get  me  while  you're  gone." 

"Rats!"  says  I. 

"Tigers!"  says  she.  "Oh,  Right,  you  unplumba- 
ble  old  idiot!  Do  you  think  you  can  come  into  this 
cave  and  hide  anything  from  me  under  that  trans 
parent  face  of  yours  ?  The  minute  you  came  in  and 
hemmed  and  hawed,  and  said  as  you  had  nothing  to 
do  you  guessed  you'd  have  a  go  with  the  firesticks — I 
knew.  What  scared  you?" 

I  surrendered  and  told  her. 

"...  And  then,"  she  said,  "you  think  maybe 
they'll  hurt— us?" 

I  nodded. 

"Why,  it's  war,"  she  said.  "I've  read  enough 
about  war  to  know  that  there  are  two  safe  rules  to 
follow.  First,  declare  war  yourself  while  the  other 
fellow's  thinking  about  it;  and  then  strike  him  before 
he's  even  heard  that  you  have  declared  it.  That 

105 


THE  TRAP 

sounds  mixed,  but  it's  easy  enough.  We'll  declare 
war  on  the  dangerous  beasts  while  I'm  still  in  the 
months  of  hop,  skip,  and  jump." 

"A  certain  woman,"  said  I,  "wouldn't  let  the  beasts 
go  down  in  the  old  Boldero,  as  would  have  been  bene 
ficial  for  all  parties." 

"This  is  different,"  she  said.  "This  island's  got 
to  be  a  safe  place  for  a  little  child  to  play  in  or  Ivy 
Bower's  got  to  be  told  the  reason  why." 

"You're  dead  right,  Ivy  dear,"  I  says,  "and  always 
was.  But  how  ?  I'm  cursed  if  I  know  how  to  kill  a 
tiger  without  a  rifle.  .  .  .  Let's  get  fire  first  and  put 
the  citadel  in  a  state  of  siege.  Then  we'll  try  our 
hand  at  traps,  snares,  and  pitfalls.  I'm  strong,  but 
I'm  cursed  if  I  want  to  fall  on  a  tiger  with  nothing  in 
my  hands  but  a  knife  or  an  axe." 

"All  I  care  about,"  said  Ivy,  "is  to  get  everything 
settled,  so  that  when  the  time  comes  we  can  be  com 
fortable  and  plenty  domestic." 

She  sat  in  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  looked  over 
the  smooth  cove  to  the  rolling  ocean  beyond;  and  she 
had  the  expression  of  a  little  girl  playing  at  being 
married  with  a  little  boy  friend  in  the  playhouse  that 
her  father  had  just  given  her  for  her  birthday. 

I  got  a  piece  of  springy  wood  to  make  a  bow  with, 
and  sat  by  her  shaping  it  with  my  knife.  That  night 
we  got  fire.  Ivy  caught  some  fish  in  the  cove  and  we 

106 


THE  TRAP 

cooked  them;  and — thanks,  O  Lord! — how  good  they 
were!  We  sat  up  very  late  comparing  impressions, 
each  saying  how  each  felt  when  the  smoke  began  to 
show  sparks  and  when  the  tinder  pieces  finally  caught, 
and  how  each  had  felt  when  the  broiled  smell  of  the  fish 
had  begun  to  go  abroad  in  the  land.  We  told  each 
other  of  all  the  good  things  we  had  eaten  in  our  day, 
but  how  this  surpassed  them  all.  And  later  we  told 
each  other  all  our  favorite  names — boy  names  in  case 
it  should  be  a  boy  and  girl  names  in  case  it  shouldn't. 
Then,  suddenly,  something  being  hunted  by  some 
thing  tore  by  in  the  dark — not  very  far  off.  The  sweat 
came  off  me  in  buckets,  and  I  heaped  wood  on  the  fire 
and  flung  burning  brands  into  the  night,  this  way  and 
that,  as  far  as  I  could  fling  them.  Ivy  said  I  was  like 
Jupiter  trying  to  hurl  thunder-bolts,  after  the  inven 
tion  of  Christianity,  and  not  rightly  understanding  why 
they  wouldn't  explode  any  more. 


VII 


The  pines  of  the  island  were  full  of  pitch  and  a 
branch  would  burn  torch-like  for  a  long  time.  I  kept 
a  bundle  of  such  handy,  the  short  ends  sharpened  so's 
you  could  stick  'em  round  wherever  the  ground  was 
soft  enough  and  have  an  effect  of  altar  candles  in  a 
draughty  church.  If  there  was  occasion  to  leave  the 

107 


THE  TRAP 

cave  at  night  I'd  carry  one  of  the  torches  and  feel  as 
safe  as  if  it  had  been  an  elephant  rifle. 

We  made  a  kind  of  a  dooryard  in  front  of  the  cave's 
mouth,  with  a  stockade  that  we  borrowed  from  Robin 
son  Crusoe,  driving  pointed  stakes  close-serried  and 
hoping  they'd  take  root  and  sprout;  but  they  didn't. 
Between  times  I  made  finger-drawings  in  the  sand  of 
plans  for  tiger  traps  and  pitfalls.  I  couldn't  dig  pits, 
but  I  knew  of  two  that  might  have  been  made  to  my 
order,  a  volcano  having  taken  the  contract.  They 
were  deep  as  wells,  sheer-sided;  anything  that  fell  in 
would  stay  in.  I  made  a  wattle- work  of  branches 
and  palm  fibre  to  serve  as  lids  for  these  nature-made 
tiger  jars.  The  idea  was  to  toss  dead  fish  out  to  the 
middle  of  the  lids  for  bait;  then  for  one  of  the  big 
cats  to  smell  the  fish,  step  out  to  get  it,  and  fall  through. 
Once  in,  it  would  be  child's  work  to  stone  him  to 
death. 

Another  trap  I  made  was  more  complicated  and 
was  a  scheme  to  drop  trees  heavy  enough  to  break 
a  camel's  back  or  whatever  touched  the  trigger  that 
kept  them  from  falling.  It  was  the  devil's  own  job 
to  make  that  trap.  First  place,  I  couldn't  cut  a  tree 
big  enough  and  lift  it  to  a  strategic  position;  so  I  had 
to  fell  trees  in  such  a  way  that  they'd  be  caught  half 
way  to  the  ground  by  other  trees.  Then  I'd  have  to 
clear  away  branches  and  roots  so  that  when  the  trees 

108 


THE  TRAP 

did  fall  the  rest  of  the  way  it  would  be  clean,  plumb, 
and  sudden.  It  was  a  wonderful  trap  when  it  was 
finished  and  it  was  the  most  dangerous  work  of  art  I 
ever  saw.  If  you  touched  any  of  a  dozen  triggers  you 
stood  to  have  a  whole  grove  of  trees  come  banging 
down  on  top  of  you — same  as  if  you  went  for  a  walk 
in  the  woods  and  a  tornado  came  along  and  blew  the 
woods  down.  If  the  big  cats  had  known  how  fright 
fully  dangerous  that  trap  was  they'd  have  jumped 
overboard  and  left  the  island  by  swimming.  I  made 
two  other  traps  something  like  it — the  best  contractor 
in  New  York  wouldn't  have  undertaken  to  build  one 
just  like  it  at  any  price — and  then  it  came  around  to 
be  the  seventh  day,  so  to  speak;  and,  like  the  six-day 
bicycle  rider,  I  rested. 

"  Days,"  is  only  a  fashion  of  speaking.  I  was  months 
getting  my  five  death-traps  into  working  order.  I 
couldn't  work  steadily  because  there  was  heaps  of 
cavework  to  do  besides,  fish  to  be  caught,  wood  to  be 
cut  for  the  fire,  and  all;  and  then,  dozens  of  times,  I'd 
suddenly  get  scared  about  Ivy  and  go  running  back 
to  the  cave  to  see  if  she  was  all  right.  I  might  have 
known  better;  she  was  always  all  right  and  much 
better  plucked  than  I  was. 

Well,  sir,  my  traps  wouldn't  work.  The  fish  rotted 
on  the  wattle-lids  of  the  pitfalls,  but  the  beasts  wouldn't 
try  for  'em.  They  were  getting  ravenous,  too — ready 

109 


THE  TRAP 

to  attack  big  Bahut  even;  but  they  wouldn't  step  out 
on  those  wattles  and  they  wouldn't  step  under  my 
balanced  trees.  They'd  beat  about  the  neighbor 
hood  of  the  danger  and  I've  found  many  a  padmark 
within  six  inches  of  the  edge  of  things.  I  even  baited 
with  a  live  kid.  It  belonged  to  the  Thibet  goats  and  I 
had  a  hard  time  catching  it;  and  after  it  had  bleated 
all  night  and  done  its  baby  best  to  be  tiger  food  I 
turned  it  loose  and  it  ran  off  with  its  mammy.  She, 
poor  soul,  had  gone  right  into  the  trap  to  be  with  her 
baby  and,  owing  to  the  direct  intervention  of  Provi 
dence,  hadn't  sprung  the  thing. 

The  next  fancy  bait  I  tried  was  a  chetah — dead. 
I  found  him  just  after  his  accident,  not  far  from  the 
cave.  t  He  was  still  warm;  and  he  was  flat — very  flat, 
like  a  rug  made  of  chetah  skin.  He  had  some  shreds 
of  elephant-hide  tangled  in  his  claws.  It  looked  to 
me  as  if  he'd  gotten  desperate  with  hunger  and  had 
pounced  on  big  Bahut — pshaw!  the  story  was  in 
plain  print:  "Ouch!"  says  big  Bahut.  "A  flea  has 
bitten  me.  Here's  where  I  play  dead,"  and — rolls 
over.  Result:  one  neat  and  very  flat  rug  made  out 
of  chetah. 

I  showed  the  rug  to  Ivy  and  then  carried  it  off  to 
the  woods  and  spread  it  in  my  first  and  fanciest  trap. 
Then  I  allowed  I'd  have  a  look  at  the  pitfalls,  which 
I  hadn't  visited  for  a  couple  of  days — and  I  was  a  fool 

110 


THE  TRAP 

to  do  it.  I'd  told  Ivy  where  I  was  going  to  spread 
the  chetah  and  that  after  that  I'd  come  straight  home. 
Well,  the  day  seemed  young  and  I  thought  if  I  hurried 
I  could  go  home  the  roundabout  way  by  the  pitfalls 
in  such  good  time  that  Ivy  wouldn't  know  the  differ 
ence.  Well,  sir,  I  came  to  the  first  pitfall — and,  lo 
and  behold!  something  had  been  and  taken  the  bait 
and  got  away  with  it  without  so  much  as  putting  a 
foot  through  the  wattling.  I'd  woven  it  too  strong. 
So  I  thought  I'd  just  weaken  it  up  a  little — it  wouldn't 
take  five  minutes.  I  tried  it  with  my  foot — very 
gingerly.  Yes,  it  was  too  strong — much  too  strong. 
I  put  more  weight  into  that  foot — and  bang,  smash, 
crash — bump!  There  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit, 
with  half  the  wattling  on  top  of  me. 

The  depth  of  that  hole  was  full  twenty-five  feet; 
the  sides  were  as  smooth  as  bottle-glass;  dusk  was 
turning  into  dark.  But  these  things  weren't  the  worst 
of  it.  I'd  told  Ivy  that  I'd  do  one  thing— and  I'd 
gone  and  done  another.  I'd  lied  to  her  and  I'd  put 
her  in  for  a  time  of  anxiety,  and  then  fright,  that 
might  kill  her. 


Ill 


THE  TRAP 


VIII 

I  wasted  what  little  daylight  was  left  trying  to 
climb  out,  using  nothing  but  hands  and  feet.  And 
then  I  sat  down  and  cursed  myself  for  a  triple- 
plated,  copper-riveted,  patent-applied-for  fool.  Noth 
ing  would  have  been  easier,  given  light,  than  to  take  the 
wattling  that  had  fallen  into  the  pit  with  me  to  pieces, 
build  a  pole — sort  of  a  split-bamboo  fishing-rod  on  a 
big  scale — shin  up  and  go  home.  But  to  turn  that  trick 
in  the  dark  wasn't  any  fun.  I  did  it  though — twice. 
I  made  the  first  pole  too  light  and  it  smashed  when  I 
was  half-way  up.  A  splinter  jabbed  into  my  thigh 
and  drew  blood.  That  complicated  matters.  The 
smell  of  the  blood  went  out  of  the  pit  and  travelled 
around  the  island  like  a  sandwich  man  saying:  "Fine 
supply  of  fresh  meat  about  to  come  out  of  Right 
Bower's  pet  pitfall;  second  on  the  left." 

When  I'd  shinned  to  the  top  of  the  second  pole  I 
built  and  crawled  over  the  rim  of  the  pit — there  was 
a  tiger  sitting,  waiting,  very  patient.  I  could  just  make 
him  out  in  the  starlight.  He  was  mighty  lean  and 
looked  like  a  hungry  gutter-cat  on  a  big  scale.  Some 
people  are  afraid  to  be  alone  in  the  dark.  I'm  not. 
Well,  I  just  knelt  there — I'd  risen  to  my  knees — and 
stared  at  him.  And  then  I  began  to  take  in  a  long 

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THE  TRAP 

breath — I  swelled  and  swelled  with  it.  It's  a  wonder 
I  didn't  use  up  all  the  air  on  the  island  and  create  a 
vacuum — in  which  case  the  tiger  would  have  blown 
up.  I  remember  wondering  what  that  big  breath 
was  going  to  do  when  it  came  out.  I  didn't  know. 
I  had  no  plan.  I  looked  at  the  tiger  and  he  looked 
at  me  and  whined — like  a  spoiled  spaniel  asking  for 
sugar.  That  was  too  much.  I  thought  of  Ivy,  maybe 
needing  me  as  she'd  never  needed  any  one  before 
— and  I  looked  at  that  stinking  cat  that  meant  to 
keep  me  from  her.  I  made  one  jump  at  him — 'stead 
of  him  at  me — and  at  the  same  time  I  let  out  the  big 
breath  I'd  drawn  in  a  screech  that  very  likely  was 
heard  in  Jericho. 

The  tiger  just  vanished  like  a  Cheshire  cat  in  a 
book  I  read  once,  and  I  was  running  through  the  night 
for  home  and  Ivy.  But  the  fire  at  the  cave  was 
dying,  and  Ivy  was  gone. 

Well,  of  course  she'd  have  gone  to  look  for  me.  .  .  . 
It  was  then  that  I  began  to  whimper  and  cry.  I  lit 
a  pine-torch,  flung  some  wood  on  the  embers,  and  went 
out  to  look  for  her — whimpering  all  the  time.  I'd 
told  her  that  I  was  going  out  to  bait  a  certain  trap 
and  would  then  come  straight  home.  So  of  course 
she'd  have  gone  straight  to  that  trap — and  it  was 
there  I  found  her. 

The  torch  showed  her  where  she  sat,  right  near 
the  dead  chetah,  in  the  very  centre  of  the  trap — trig- 

113 


THE  TRAP 

gers  all  about  her — to  touch  one  of  which  spelt  death ; 
and  all  around  the  trap,  in  a  ring — like  an  audience 
at  a  one-ring  circus — were  the  meat-eaters — the  tigers 
— the  lions — the  leopards — and,  worst  of  all,  the  pigs. 
There  she  sat  and  there  they  sat — and  no  one  moved 
— except  me  with  the  torch. 

She  lifted  her  great  eyes  to  me  and  she  smiled.  All 
the  beasts  looked  at  me  and  turned  away  their  eyes 
from  the  light  and  blinked  and  shifted;  and  the  old 
he-lion  coughed.  They  wouldn't  come  near  me  be 
cause  of  the  torch — and  they  wouldn't  go  near  Ivy 
because  of  the  trap.  They  knew  it  was  a  trap.  They 
always  had  known  it  and  so  had  Ivy.  That  was  why 
she  had  gone  into  it  when  so  many  deaths  looked  at 
her  in  so  many  ways — because  she  knew  that  in  there 
she'd  be  safe.  All  along  she'd  known  that  my  old 
traps  and  pitfalls  wouldn't  catch  anything;  but  she'd 
never  said  so — and  she'd  never  laughed  at  them  or 
at  me.  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  call  her  a 
perfect  wife — just  by  that  one  fact  of  tact  alone; 
but  there  are  other  facts — other  reasons — millions  of 
them. 

Suddenly  from  somewhere  near  Ivy  there  came  a 
thin,  piping  sound. 

"  It's  your  little  son  talking  to  you,"  says  Ivy,  as 
calm  as  if  she  was  sitting  up  in  a  four-poster. 

"My  little  son!"  I  says.  That  was  all  for  a  min 
ute.  Then  I  says: 

114 


THE  TRAP 

"Are  you  all  right?" 

And  she  says: 

"  Sure  I  am — now  that  I  know  you  are." 

I  turned  my  torch  fire-end  down  and  it  began  to 
blaze  and  sputter  and  presently  roar.  Then  I  steps 
over  to  the  lion  and  he  doesn't  move;  and  I  points 
the  torch  at  his  dirty  face — and  lunges. 

Ever  see  a  kitten  enjoying  a  fit?  That  was  what 
happened  to  him.  Then  I  ran  about,  beating  and 
poking  and  shouting  and  burning.  It  was  like 
Ulysses  cleaning  the  house  of  suitors  and  handmaids. 
All  the  beasts  ran;  and  some  of  'em  ran  a  long  way, 
I  guess,  and  climbed  trees. 

I  stuck  the  torch  point-end  in  the  ground,  stepped 
into  the  trap,  and  lifted  my  family  out.  All  the  time 
I  prayed  aloud,  saying:  "Lord  on  high,  keep  Right 
Bower  from  touching  his  blamed  foot  against  any  of 
these  triggers  and  dropping  the  forest  on  top  of  all  he 
holds  in  his  arms!"  Ivy,  she  rubbed  her  cheek  against 
mine  to  show  confidence — and  then  we  were  safe  out 
and  I  picked  up  the  torch  and  carried  the  whole  kit 
and  boodle,  family,  torch,  happiness — much  too  big 
to  tote — and  belief  in  God's  goodness,  watchfulness, 
and  mercy,  home  to  our  cave. 

Right  Bower  added  some  uneventful  details  of  the 
few  days  following — the  ship's  boat  that  put  into  the 

115 


THE  TRAP 

island  for  water  and  took  them  off,  and  so  on.  Then 
he  asked  me  if  Fd  like  to  meet  Mrs.  Bower,  and  I 
went  forward  with  him  and  was  presented. 

She  was  deep  in  a  steamer-chair,  half  covered  with 
a  somewhat  gay  assortment  of  steamer-rugs.  I  had 
noticed  her  before,  in  passing,  and  had  mistaken  her 
for  a  child. 

Bower  beamed  over  us  for  a  while  and  then  left  us 
and  we  talked  for  hours — about  Bower,  the  children, 
and  the  home  in  East  Orange  to  which  they  were 
returning  after  a  holiday  at  Aix;  but  she  wouldn't 
talk  much  about  the  island.  "  Right,"  she  said,  "  was 
all  the  time  so  venturesome  that  from  morning  till 
night  I  died  of  worry  and  anxiety.  Right  says  the 
Lord  does  just  the  right  thing  for  the  right  people 
a.t  the  right  time — always.  That's  his  creed.  .  .  . 
Sometimes,"  she  said,  "I  wonder  what's  become  of 
big  Bahut.  He  was  such  a — white  elephant!" 

Mrs.  Gordon-Coif  ax  took  me  to  task  for  spending 
so  much  of  the  afternoon  with  Mrs.  Bower. 

"Who,"  said  she,  "was  that  common  little  person 
you  were  flirting  with? — and  why?" 

"  She's  a  Mrs.  Bower,"  I  said.     "  She  has  a  mission." 

"I  could  tell  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon-Colfax,  "from 
the  way  she  turned  up  her  eyes  at  you." 

"  As  long  as  she  doesn't  turn  up  her  nose  at  me — " 
I  began;  but  Mrs.  Gordon-Colfax  put  in: 

116 


THE  TRAP 

"The  Lord  did  that  for  her/' 

"And,"  I  said,  "so  she  was  saying.  She  said  the 
Lord  does  just  the  right  thing  for  the  right  person  at 
the  right  time.  .  .  .  Now,  your  nose  is  beautifully 
Greek;  but,  to  be  honest,  it  turns  up  ever  so  much 
more  than  hers  does." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon-Colfax,  "  I  hate  com 
mon  people — and  I  can't  help  it.  Let's  have  a  bite 
in  the  grill." 

"Sorry,"  I  said;  "I'm  dining  with  the  Bowers." 

"You  have  a  strong  stomach,"  said  she. 

"  I  have,"  I  said,  "  but  a  weak  heart — and  they  are 
going  to  strengthen  it  for  me." 

And  there  arose  thenceforth  a  coolness  between 
Mrs.  Gordon-Colfax  and  me,  which  proves  once  more 
that  the  Lord  does  just  the  right  thing  for  the  right 
people  at  the  right  time. 


117 


SAPPHIRA 


SAPPHIRA 

Mr.  Hemingway  had  transacted  a  great  deal  of 
business  with  Miss  Tennant's  father;  otherwise  he 
must  have  shunned  the  proposition  upon  which  she 
came  to  him.  Indeed,  wrinkling  his  bushy  brows,  he 
as  much  as  told  her  that  he  was  a  banker  and  not  a 
pawnbroker. 

Outside,  the  main  street  of  Aiken,  broad  enough  to 
have  made  five  New  England  streets,  lay  red  and  glar 
ing  in  the  sun.  The  least  restless  shifting  of  feet  by 
horses  and  mules  tied  to  hitching-posts  raised  clouds 
of  dust,  immense  reddish  ghosts  that  could  not  be  laid. 
In  the  bank  itself,  ordinarily  a  cool  retreat,  smelling 
faintly  of  tobacco  juice  deposited  by  some  of  its  clients, 
the  mercury  was  swelling  toward  ninety.  It  was  April 
Fools'  day,  and  unless  Miss  Tennant  was  cool,  no 
body  was.  She  looked  cool.  If  the  temperature  had 
been  40°  below  zero  she  would  have  looked  warm; 
but  she  would  have  been  dressed  differently. 

It  was  her  great  gift  always  to  look  the  weather  and 
the  occasion;  no  matter  how  or  what  she  really  felt. 
On  the  present  occasion  she  wore  a  very  simple,  inex 
pensive  muslin,  flowered  with  faint  mauve  lilacs,  and 
a  wide,  floppy  straw-hat  trimmed  with  the  same.  She 

121 


SAPPHIRA 

had  driven  into  town,  half  a  mile  or  more,  without  get 
ting  a  speck  of  dust  upon  herself.  Even  the  corners  of 
her  eyes  were  like  those  of  a  newly  laundered  baby. 
She  smelled  of  tooth-powder  (precipitated  chalk  and 
orris  root),  as  was  her  custom,  and  she  wore  no  ring 
or  ornament  of  any  value.  Indeed,  such  jewels  as  she 
possessed,  a  graceful  diamond  necklace,  a  pearl  collar, 
a  pearl  pendant,  and  two  cabochon  sapphire  rings, 
lay  on  the  table  between  her  and  Mr.  Hemingway. 

"I'm  not  asking  the  bank  to  do  this  for  me,"  she 
said,  and  she  looked  extra  lovely  (on  purpose,  of  course). 
"I'm  asking  you " 

Mr.  Hemingway  poked  the  cluster  of  jewels  very 
gingerly  with  his  forefinger  as  if  they  were  a  lizard. 

"And,  of  course,"  she  said,  "they  are  worth  twice 
the  money;  maybe  three  or  four  times." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Hemingway,  "you  will  take 
offence  if  I  suggest  that  your  father " 

The  muslin  over  her  shoulders  tightened  the  least 
in  the  world.  She  had  shrugged  them. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "papa  would  do  it;  but  he 
would  insist  on  reasons.  My  reasons  involve  another, 
Mr.  Hemingway,  and  so  it  would  not  be  honorable  for 
me  to  give  them." 

"And  yet,"  said  the  banker,  twinkling,  "your  rea 
sons  would  tempt  me  to  accommodate  you  with  the 
loan  you  ask  for  far  more  than  your  collateral." 

122 


SAPPHIRA 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  you  are  a  business  man.  I  could 
give  you  reasons,  and  be  sure  they  would  go  no  further 
— even  if  you  thought  them  funny.  But  if  papa  heard 
them,  and  thought  them  funny,  as  he  would,  he  would 
play  the  sieve.  I  don't  want  this  money  for  myself, 
Mr.  Hemingway." 

"  They  never  do,"  said  he. 

She  laughed. 

"  I  wish  to  lend  it  in  turn,"  she  said,  "  to  a  person 
who  has  been  reckless,  and  who  is  in  trouble,  but  in 
whom  I  believe.  .  .  .  But  perhaps,"  she  went  on, 
"the  person,  who  is  very  proud,  will  take  offence  at 
my  offer  of  help.  ...  In  which  case,  Mr.  Hemingway, 
I  should  return  you  the  money  to-morrow." 

"This  person — "  he  began,  twinkling. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I  couldn't  bear  to  be  teased.  The 
person  is  a  young  gentleman.  Any  interest  that  I  take 
in  him  is  a  business  interest,  pure  and  simple.  I  be- 
believe  that,  tided  over  his  present  difficulties,  he  will 
steady  down  and  become  a  credit  to  his  sex.  Can  I 
say  more  than  that?"  She  smiled  drolly. 

"Men  who  are  a  credit  to  their  sex,"  said  Mr. 
Hemingway,  "  are  not  rare,  but  young  gentlemen " 

"This  one,"  said  she,  "has  in  him  the  makings  of 
a  man.  Just  now  he  is  discouraged." 

"  Is  he  taking  anything  for  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Heming 
way  with  some  sarcasm. 

"Buckets,"  said  Miss  Tennant  simply. 
123 


SAPPHIRA 

"Was  it  cards?"  he  asked. 

"Cards,  and  betting — and  the  hopeless  optimism 
of  youth,"  said  she. 

"And  you  wish  to  lend  him  five  thousand  dollars, 
and  your  interest  in  him  is  platonic?" 

"  Nothing  so  ardent,"  said  she  demurely.  "  I  wish 
him  to  pay  his  debts,  to  give  me  his  word  that  he  will 
neither  drink  nor  gamble  until  he  has  paid  back  the 
debt  to  me,  and  I  shall  suggest  that  he  go  out  to  one  of 
those  big  Western  States  and  become  a  man." 

"  If  anybody,"  said  Mr.  Hemingway  with  gallantry, 
"could  lead  a  young  gentleman  to  so  sweeping  a  re 
form,  it  would  be  yourself." 

"There  is  no  sequence  of  generations,"  said  Miss 
Tennant,  "long  enough  to  eradicate  a  drop  of  Irish 
blood." 

Mr.  Hemingway  swept  the  jewels  together  and 
wrapped  them  in  the  tissue-paper  in  which  she  had 
brought  them. 

"Are  you  going  to  put  them  in  your  safe — or  re 
turn  them  to  me?"  she  asked  plaintively. 

Mr.  Hemingway  affected  gruffness. 

"I  am  thanking  God  fervently,  ma'am,"  said  he, 
"that  you  didn't  ask  me  for  more.  You'll  have  to 
give  me  your  note.  By  the  way,  are  you  of  age  ?  " 

Her  charming  eyes  narrowed,  and  she  laughed  at 
him. 

"People,"  she  said,  "are  already  beginning  to  say, 
124 


SAPPHIRA 

'she  will  hardly  marry  now/     But  it's  how  old  we 
feel,  Mr.  Hemingway,  isn't  it?" 

"  I  feel  about  seven,"  said  he,  "  and  foolish  at  that." 

"  And  I,"  said  she,  "  will  be  twenty-five  for  the  sec 
ond  time  on  my  next  birthday." 

"  And,  by  the  way,"  she  said,  when  the  details  of  the 
loan  had  been  arranged  and  she  had  stuffed  the  five 
thousand  dollars  into  the  palm  of  a  wash  glove,  "  no 
body  must  know  about  this,  because  I  shall  have  to 
say  that — my  gewgaws  have  been  stolen." 

"  But  that  will  give  Aiken  a  black  eye,"  said  he. 

"I'm  afraid  it  can't  be  helped,  Mr.  Hemingway. 
Papa  will  ask  point-blank  why  I  never  wear  the  pearls 
he  gave  me,  and  I  shall  have  to  anticipate." 

"How?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,"  she  said  demurely,  "to-night  or  to-morrow 
night  I  shall  rouse  the  household  with  screams,  and 
claim  that  I  woke  and  saw  a  man  bending  over  my 
dressing-table — a  man  with  a  beautiful  white  mustache 
and  imperial." 

Mr.  Hemingway's  right  hand  flew  to  his  mouth  as 
if  to  hide  these  well-ordered  appendages,  and  he 
laughed. 

"Is  the  truth  nothing  to  you?"  he  said. 

"In  a  busines  matter  pure  and  simple,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  it  is  nothing — absolutely 
nothing." 

125 


SAPPHIRA 

"Not  being  found  out  by  one's  parents  is  hardly  a 
business  matter,"  said  Mr.  Hemingway. 

"  Oh,"  said  she  with  a  shiver,  "  as  a  little  girl  I  went 
into  the  hands  of  a  receiver  at  least  once  a  month " 

"  A  hand  of  iron  in  a  velvet  glove,"  murmured  Mr. 
Hemingway. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "  a  leather  slipper  in  a  nervous 
hand.  .  .  .  But  how  can  I  thank  you?" 

She  rose,  still  demure  and  cool,  but  with  a  strong 
sparkling  in  her  eyes  as  from  a  difficult  matter  suc 
cessfully  adjusted. 

"  You  could  make  the  burglar  a  clean-shaven  man," 
Mr.  Hemingway  suggested. 

"  I  will,"  she  said.  "  I  will  make  him  look  like  any 
body  you  say." 

"  God  forbid,"  said  he.  "  I  have  no  enemies.  But, 
seriously,  Miss  Tennant,  if  you  possibly  can,  will  you 
do  without  a  burglary,  for  the  good  name  of  Aiken?" 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  she  said,  "  but  I  can't  make 
promises." 

When  she  had  gone,  one  of  the  directors  pushed  open 
the  door  of  Mr.  Hemingway's  office  and  tiptoed  in. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "for  an  old  graybeard!  You've 
been  flirting  fifty  minutes,  you  sinner." 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Hemingway,  twisting  his  mus 
tache  and  looking  roguish.  "I've  been  discussing  a 
little  matter  of  business  with  Miss  Tennant." 

126 


SAPPHIRA 

"W hat  business?" 

"Well,  it  wasn't  any  of  yours,  Frank,  at  the  time, 
and  I'm  dinned  if  I  think  it  is  now.  But  if  you  must 
know,  she  came  in  to  complain  of  the  milk  that  your 
dairy  has  been  supplying  lately.  She  said  it  was  the 
kind  of  thing  you'd  expect  in  the  North,  but  for  a 
Southern  gentleman  to  put  water  in  anything " 

"  You  go  to  Augusta,"  said  the  director  (it  is  several 
degrees  hotter  than  Aiken).  "  Everybody  knows  that 
spoons  stand  up  in  the  milk  from  my  dairy,  and  as  for 
the  cream " 

In  the  fall  from  grace  of  David  Larkin  there  was  in 
volved  no  great  show  of  natural  depravity.  The  dif 
ference  between  a  young  man  who  goes  right  and  a 
young  man  who  goes  wrong  may  be  no  more  than  the 
half  of  one  per  cent.  And  I  do  not  know  why  we  show 
the  vicious  such  contempt  and  the  virtuous  such  admi 
ration.  Larkin's  was  the  case  of  a  young  man  who 
tried  to  do  what  he  was  not  old  enough,  strong  enough, 
or  wise  enough  to  "get  away  with,"  as  the  saying  is. 
Aiken  did  not  corrupt  him;  he  was  corrupt  when 
he  came,  with  a  bank  account  of  thirty-five  hundred 
dollars  snatched  from  the  lap  of  Dame  Fortune,  at  a 
moment  when  she  was  minding  some  other  small  boy. 
Horses  running  up  to  their  form,  spectacular  bridge 
hands  (not  well  played),  and  bets  upon  every  subject 
that  can  be  thought  of  had  all  contributed.  Then  Lar- 

127 


SAPPHIRA 

kin  caught  a  cold  in  his  nose,  so  that  it  ran  all  day  and 
all  night;  and  because  the  Browns  had  invited  him  to 
Aiken  for  a  fortnight  whenever  he  cared  to  come,  he 
seized  upon  the  excuse  of  his  cold  and  boarded  the  first 
train.  He  was  no  sooner  in  Aiken  than  Dame  Fortune 
ceased  minding  the  other  small  boy,  and  turned  her 
petulant  eyes  upon  Larkin.  Forthwith  he  began  to 
lose. 

Let  no  man  who  does  not  personally  know  what  a 
run  of  bad  luck  is  judge  another.  What  color  is  a 
lemon?  Why,  it  is  lemon-colored,  to  be  sure.  And 
behold,  fortune  produces  you  a  lemon  black  as  the  ace 
of  spades.  When  fortune  goes  against  you,  you  can 
not  be  right.  The  favorite  falls  down ;  the  great  jockey 
uses  bad  judgment  for  the  first  time  in  his  life;  the 
foot-ball  team  that  ought  to  win  is  overtrained;  the 
yacht  carries  away  her  bowsprit;  your  four  kings  are 
brought  face  to  face,  after  much  "  hiking, "  with  four 
aces;  the  cigarette  that  you  try  to  flick  into  the  fire 
place  hits  the  slender  andiron  and  bounces  out  upon 
the  rug;  the  liquor  that  you  carried  so  amiably  and 
sensibly  in  New  York  mixes  with  the  exciting  air  of 
the  place  where  the  young  lady  you  are  attentive  c<. 
lives,  and  you  make  four  asses  of  yourself  and  seven 
fools,  and  wake  up  with  your  first  torturing  headache 
and  your  first  humiliating  apology.  Americans  (with 
the  unfortunate  exception  of  us  who  make  a  business 

128 


SAPPHIRA 

of  it)  are  the  greatest  phrase-makers  the  world  has  ever 
known.  Larkin Js  judgment  was  good;  he  was  a  mod 
est  young  fellow  of  very  decent  instincts,  he  was  neither 
a  born  gambler  nor  a  born  drinker;  but,  in  the  Amer 
ican  phrase,  "  he  was  in  wrong." 

Bad  luck  is  not  a  good  excuse  for  a  failure  in  charac 
ter;  but  God  knows  how  wickedly  provocative  thereof 
it  can  be.  The  elders  of  the  Aiken  Club  did  not  no 
tice  that  Larkin  was  slipping  from  grace,  because  his 
slipping  was  gradual;  but  they  noticed  all  of  a  sud 
den,  with  pity,  chagrin  (for  they  liked  him),  and  kindly 
contempt,  that  he  had  fallen.  Forthwith  a  wave  of 
reform  swept  over  the  Aiken  Club,  or  it  amounted  to 
that.  Rich  men  who  did  not  care  a  hang  about  what 
they  won  or  lost  refused  to  play  for  high  stakes;  Lar- 
kin's  invitations  to  cocktails  were  very  largely  refused; 
no  bets  were  made  in  his  presence  (and  I  must  say  that 
this  was  a  great  cause  of  languishment  in  certain  men's 
conversation),  and  the  young  man  was  mildly  and  prop 
erly  snubbed.  This  locking  of  the  stable  door,  how 
ever,  had  the  misfortune  to  happen  just  after  the  horse 
had  bolted.  Larkin  had  run  through  the  most  of  his 
money;  he  did  not  know  how  he  was  to  pay  his  bed 
and  board  at  Willcox's,  where  he  was  now  stopping; 
his  family  were  in  no  position  to  help  him;  he  knew 
that  he  was  beginning  to  be  looked  on  with  contempt; 
he  thought  that  he  was  seriously  in  love  with  Miss 

129 


SAPPHIRA 

Tennant.  He  could  not  see  any  way  out  of  anything; 
knew  that  a  disgraceful  crash  was  imminent,  and  for 
all  these  troubles  he  took  the  wrong  medicine.  Not 
the  least  foolish  part  of  this  was  that  it  was  medicine 
for  which  he  would  be  unable  to  pay  when  the  club  bill 
fell  due.  From  after  breakfast  until  late  at  night  he 
kept  himself,  not  drunk,  but  stimulated.  .  .  .  And 
then  one  day  the  president  of  the  club  spoke  to  him  very 
kindly — and  the  next  day  wouldn't  speak  to  him  at  all. 

The  proper  course  would  have  been  for  Larkin  to 
open  his  heart  to  any  of  a  dozen  men.  Any  one  of 
them  would  have  straightened  him  out  mentally  and 
financially  in  one  moment,  and  forgotten  about  it  the 
next.  But  Larkin  was  too  young,  too  foolish,  and  too 
full  of  false  pride  to  make  confessions  to  any  one  who 
could  help  him;  and  he  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  gen 
uine  kindness  and  wisdom  that  lurks  in  the  average 
rich  man,  if  once  you  can  get  his  ear. 

But  one  night,  being  sure  they  could  not  be  con 
strued  into  an  appeal  for  help,  or  anything  but  a  sym 
pathetic  scolding,  which  he  thought  would  be  enjoyable 
(and  because  of  a  full  moon,  perhaps,  and  a  whole 
chorus  of  mocking-birds  pouring  out  their  souls  in  song, 
and  because  of  an  arbor  covered  with  the  yellow  jas 
mine  that  smells  to  heaven,  and  a  little  sweeter),  he 
made  his  sorry  confessions  into  the  lovely  pink  hollow 
of  Miss  Tennant's  ear. 

130 


SAPPHIRA 

Instead  of  a  scolding  he  received  sympathy  and  un 
derstanding;  and  he  misconstrued  the  fact  that  she 
caught  his  hand  in  hers  and  squeezed  it  very  hard; 
and  did  not  know  that  he  had  misconstrued  that  fact 
until  he  found  that  it  was  her  cheek  that  he  had  kissed 
instead  of  her  hastily  averted  lips. 

This  rebuff  did  not  prevent  him  from  crowning  the 
story  of  his  young  life  with  further  confessions.  And 
it  is  on  record  that  when  Larkin  came  into  the  brightly 
lighted  club  there  was  dust  upon  the  knees  of  his 
trousers. 

"  I  am  fond  of  you,  David,"  she  had  said,  "  and  in 
spite  of  all  the  mess  you  have  made  of  things,  I  believe 
in  you;  but  even  if  I  were  fonder  than  fondest  of  you, 
I  should  despise  myself  if  I  listened  to  you — now." 

But  she  did  not  sleep  all  night  for  thinking  how  she 
could  be  of  real,  material  help  to  the  young  man,  and 
cause  him  to  turn  into  the  straight,  narrow  path  that 
always  leads  to  success  and  sometimes  to  achievement. 

Every  spring  the  Mannings,  who  have  nothing 
against  them  except  that  they  live  on  the  wrong  side  of 
town,  give  a  wistaria  party.  The  Mannings  live  for  the 
blossoming  of  the  wistaria  which  covers  their  charming 
porticoed  house  from  top  to  toe  and  fills  their  grounds. 
Ever  since  they  can  remember  they  have  specialized  in 
wistaria;  and  they  are  not  young,  and  wistaria  grows 
fast.  The  fine  old  trees  that  stand  in  the  Mannings' 

131 


SAPPHIRA 

grounds  are  merely  lofty  trellises  for  the  vines,  white 
and  mauve,  to  sport  upon.  The  Mannings'  garden 
cost  less  money,  perhaps,  than  any  notable  garden  in 
Aiken;  and  when  in  full  bloom  it  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
beautiful  garden  in  the  world.  To  appreciate  wis 
taria,  one  vine  with  a  spread  of  fifty  feet  bearing  ten 
thousand  racemes  of  blossoms  a  foot  long  is  not  enough; 
you  must  enter  and  disappear  into  a  region  of  such 
vines,  and  then  loaf  and  stroll  with  an  untroubled 
nose  and  your  heart's  desire. 

Even  Larkin,  when  he  paused  under  the  towering  en 
trance  vines,  a  mauve  and  a  white,  forgot  his  troubles. 
He  filled  his  lungs  with  the  delicious  fragrance,  and 
years  after  the  consciousness  of  it  would  come  upon  him 
suddenly.  And  then  coming  upon  tea-tables  stand 
ing  in  the  open  and  covered  with  good  things,  and 
finding,  among  the  white  flannel  and  muslin  guests, 
Miss  Tennant,  very  obviously  on  the  lookout  for  him, 
his  cup  was  full.  When  they  had  drunk  very  deep 
of  orangeade,  and  eaten  jam  sandwiches  followed  by 
chicken  sandwiches  and  walnut  cake,  they  went  stroll 
ing  (Miss  Tennant  still  looking  completely  ethereal — 
a  creature  that  lived  on  the  odor  of  flowers  and  kind 
thoughts  rather  than  the  more  material  edibles  men 
tioned  above),  and  then  Larkin  felt  that  his  cup  was 
overflowing. 

Either  because  the  day  was  hot  or  because  of  the 
132 


SAPPHIRA 

sandwiches,  they  found  exclusive  shade  and  sat  in  it, 
upon  a  white  seat  that  looked  like  marble — at  a  dis 
tance.  Larkin  once  more  filled  his  lungs  with  the 
breath  of  wistaria  and  was  for  letting  it  out  in  further 
confessions  of  what  he  felt  to  be  his  heart's  ultimate 
depths.  But  Miss  Tennant  was  too  quick  for  him. 
She  drew  five  one-thousand-dollar  bills  from  the  palm 
of  her  glove  and  put  them  in  his  hand. 

"There,"  she  said. 

Larkin  looked  at  the  money  and  fell  into  a  dark 
mood. 

"What  is  this  for?"  he  said  presently. 

"  This  is  a  loan,"  said  she,  "  from  me  to  you ;  to  be 
a  tiding  over  of  present  difficulties,  a  reminder  of 
much  that  has  been  pleasant  in  the  past,  and  an 
earnest  of  future  well-doing.  Good  luck  to  you, 
David." 

"I  wish  I  could  take  it,"  said  the  young  man  with 
a  swift,  slanting  smile.  "And  at  least  I  can  crawl 
upon  my  stomach  at  your  feet,  and  pull  my  forelock 
and  heap  dust  upon  my  head.  .  .  .  God  bless  you!" 
And  he  returned  the  bills  to  her. 

She  smiled  cheerfully  but  a  little  disdainfully. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  she.     "I  tear  them  up." 

"Oh!"  cried  Larkin.  "Don't  make  a  mess  of  a 
beautiful  incident." 

"Then  take  them." 

133 


SAPPHIRA 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  a  man  can't  bor 
row  from  a  girl." 

"A  man?"  asked  Miss  Tennant  simply,  as  if  she 
doubted  having  heard  correctly.  Then,  as  he  nodded, 
she  turned  a  pair  of  eyes  upon  him  that  were  at  once 
kind,  pained,  and  deeply  thoughtful.  And  she  began 
to  speak  in  a  quiet,  repressed  way  upon  the  theme  that 
he  had  suggested. 

"  A  man,"  she  said;  "  what  is  a  man  ?  I  can  answer 
better  by  telling  you  what  a  man  is  not.  A  man  is 
not  a  creature  who  loafs  when  he  ought  to  be  at  work, 
who  loses  money  that  he  hasn't  got,  who  drinks  liquor 
that  he  cannot  carry,  and  who  upon  such  a  noble 
groundwork  feels  justified  in  making  love  to  a  decent, 
self-respecting  girl.  That  is  not  a  man,  David.  A 
man  would  have  no  need  of  any  help  from  me.  .  .  . 
But  you — you  are  a  child  that  has  escaped  from  its 
nurse,  a  bird  that  has  fallen  out  of  its  nest  before  it 
has  learned  to  fly,  and  you  have  done  nothing  but 
foolish  things.  .  .  .  But  somehow  I  have  learned  to 
suspect  you  of  a  better  self,  where,  half-strangled  with 
foolishnesses  and  extravagance,  there  lurks  a  certain 
contrition  and  a  certain  sweetness.  .  .  .  God  knows 
I  should  like  to  see  you  a  man.  .  .  ." 

Larkin  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  all  of  him  that 
134 


SAPPHIRA 

showed  was  crimson,  and  he  could  have  cried. 
But  he  felt  no  anger,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  upon 
hers. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said;    "may  I  have  them?" 

He.  stuffed  the  bills  into  his  pocket. 

"I  have  no  security,"  he  said.  "But  I  will  give 
you  my  word  of  honor  neither  to  drink,  neither  to 
gamble,  neither  to  loaf,  nor  to  make  love  until  I  have 
paid  you  back  interest  and  principal." 

"Where  will  you  go?    What  will  you  do,  David?" 

"West — God  knows.  I  will  do  something.  .  .  . 
You  see  that  I  can't  say  any  thanks,  don't  you? 
That  I  am  almost  choking,  and  that  at  any  moment 
I  might  burst  into  sobs?" 

They  were  silent,  and  she  looked  into  his  face  un 
consciously  while  he  mastered  his  agitation.  He  sat 
down  beside  her  presently,  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his 
chin  deep  in  his  hands. 

"Is  God  blessing  you  by  any  chance?"  he  said. 
"Do  you  feel  anything  of  the  kind?  Because  I  am 
asking  Him  to — so  very  hard.  I  shall  ask  Him  to  a 
million  times  every  day  until  I  die.  ...  Would  it 
be  possible  for  one  who  has  deserved  nothing,  but 
who  would  like  it  for  the  strengthingest,  beautifulest 
memory.  .  .  ." 

"Quick,  then,"  said  she,  "some  one's  com 
ing." 

135 


SAPPHIRA 

That  very  night  screams  pierced  to  every  corner 
of  the  Tennants'  great  house  on  the  Whiskey  Road. 
Those  whom  screams  affect  in  one  way  sprang  from 
bed;  those  whom  they  affect  in  another  hid  under  the 
bedclothes.  Mr.  Tennant  himself,  a  man  of  sharp 
temper  and  implacable  courage,  dashed  from  his  room 
in  a  suit  of  blue-and-white  pajamas,  and  overturned  a 
Chippendale  cabinet  worth  a  thousand  dollars;  young 
Mr.  Tennant  barked  both  shins  on  a  wood-box  and 
dropped  a  loaded  Colt  revolver  into  the  well  of  the 
stair;  Mrs.  Tennant  was  longer  in  appearing,  having 
tarried  to  try  the  effect  upon  her  nerves  and  color  sense 
of  three  divers  wrappers.  The  butler,  an  Admirable 
Crichton  of  a  man,  came,  bearing  a  bucket  of  water  in 
case  the  house  was  on  fire.  Mrs.  Tennant's  French 
maid  carried  a  case  of  her  mistress's  jewels,  and  seemed 
determined  to  leave. 

Miss  Tennant  stood  in  the  door-way  of  her  room. 
She  was  pale  and  greatly  agitated,  but  her  eyes  shone 
with  courage  and  resolve.  Her  arched,  blue-veined 
feet  were  thrust  into  a  pair  of  red  Turkish  slippers 
turning  up  at  the  toes.  A  mandarin  robe  of  dragoned 
blue  brocade  was  flung  over  her  night-gown.  In  one 
hand  she  had  a  golf  club — a  niblick. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  when  her  father  was  sufficiently 
recovered  from  overturning  the  cabinet  to  listen, "  there 
was  a  man  in  my  room." 

136 


SAPPHIRA 


Mr.  Tennant 
Young  Mr. 
Tennant 

The  butler 

The  French 
maid 


"A  man?" 


furiously, 
sleepily. 

as  if  he  thought  she 
meant  to  say  a  fire. 

blushing  crimson. 


Then,  and  again  all  together: 

Mr.  Tennant—  "  Which  way  did  he  go  ?  " 

Young  Mr.  Tennant—         "Which  man?" 
The  butler—  "  A  white  man  ?  " 

The  French  maid  (with  a  kind  of  ecstasy) — 

"A  man!" 

"Out  the  window!"  cried  Miss  Tennant. 

Her  father  and  brother  dashed  downstairs  and  out 
into  the  grounds.  The  butler  hurried  to  the  telephone 
(still  carrying  his  bucket  of  water)  and  rang  Central 
and  asked  for  the  chief  of  police.  Central  answered, 
after  a  long  interval,  that  the  chief  of  police  was  out 
of  order,  and  rang  off. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Tennant  arrived,  and,  having 
coldly  recovered  her  jewel-case  from  the  custody  of 
the  French  maid,  prepared  to  be  told  the  details  of 
what  hadn't  happened. 

"  He  was  bending  over  my  dressing-table,  mamma," 
137 


SAPPHIRA 

said  Miss  Tennant.  "I  could  see  him  plainly  in  the 
moonlight;  he  had  a  mask,  and  was  smooth  shaven, 
and  he  wore  gloves." 

"I  wonder  why  he  wore  gloves/'  mused  Mrs. 
Tennant. 

"  I  suppose/'  said  Miss  Tennant,  "  that  he  had  heard 
of  the  Bertillon  system,  and  was  afraid  of  being  tracked 
by  his  finger-marks." 

"Did  he  say  anything?" 

"Not  to  me,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Tennant,  "but  he 
kept  mumbling  to  himself  so  I  could  hear:  'Slit  her 
damn  throat  if  she  makes  a  move;  slit  it  right  into  the 
backbone/  So,  of  course,  I  didn't  make  a  move — I 
thought  he  was  talking  to  a  confederate  whom  I 
couldn't  see." 

"Why  a  confederate?"  asked  Mrs.  Tennant.  "Oh, 
I  see — you  mean  a  sort  of  partner." 

"  But  there  was  only  the  one,"  said  Miss  Tennant. 
"And  when  he  had  filled  his  pockets  and  was  gone 
by  the  window — I  thought  it  was  safe  to  scream,  and 
I  screamed." 

" Have  you  looked  to  see  what  he  took?" 

"No.  But  my  jewels  were  all  knocking  about  on 
the  dressing-table.  I  suppose  he  got  them." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Tennant,  "let's  be  thankful  that 
he  didn't  get  mine." 

"And  only  to  think,"  said  Miss  Tennant,  "that 
138 


SAPPHIRA 

only  last  night  papa  asked  me  why  I  had  given  up 
wearing  my  pearls,  and  was  put  out  about  it,  and  I 
promised  to  wear  them  oftenerl" 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother  confiden 
tially;  "if  you  are  sorry  enough  long  enough  your 
father  will  buy  you  others.  He  can  be  wonderfully 
generous  if  you  keep  at  him." 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Tennant,  "I  feel  sure  that  they 
will  be  recovered  some  day — it  may  not  be  to-morrow, 
or  next  day — but  somehow — some  time  I  feel  sure  that 
they  will  come  back.  Of  course  papa  must  offer  a 
reward." 

"I  wonder  how  much  he  will  offer!" 

"  Oh,  a  good  round  sum.  I  shall  suggest  five  thou 
sand  dollars,  if  he  asks  me." 

The  next  day  Miss  Tennant  despatched  the  follow 
ing  note  to  Mr.  Hemingway: 

DEAR,  KIND  MR.  HEMINGWAY: 

You  have  heard  of  the  great  robbery  and  of  my  dreadful  fright. 
But  there  is  no  use  crying  about  it.  It  is  one  of  those  dreadful 
things,  I  suppose,  that  simply  have  to  happen.  The  burglar  was 
smooth-shaven.  How  awful  that  this  should  have  to  happen  in 
Aiken  of  all  cities.  In  Aiken  where  we  never  have  felt  hitherto 
that  it  was  ever  necessary  to  lock  the  door.  I  suppose  Mr.  Powell's 
nice  hardware  store  will  do  an  enormous  business  now  in  patent 
bolts.  Papa  is  going  to  offer  five  thousand  dollars'  reward  for 
the  return  of  my  jewels,  and  no  questions  asked.  Do  you  know, 

139 


SAPPHIRA 

I  have  a  feeling  that  you  are  going  to  be  instrumental  in  finding 
the  stolen  goods.  I  have  a  feeling  that  the  thief  (if  he  has  any 
sense  at  all)  will  negotiate  through  you  for  their  return.  And  I 
am  sure  the  thief  would  never  have  taken  them  if  he  had  known 
how  badly  it  would  make  me  feel,  and  what  a  blow  he  was  strik 
ing  at  the  good  name  of  Aiken. 
I  am,  dear  Mr.  Hemingway,  contritely  and  sincerely  yours, 

SAPPHIRA  TENNANT 
(formerly  Dolly  Tennant). 

But  Mr.  Hemingway  refused  to  touch  the  reward, 
and  Miss  Tennant  remained  in  his  debt  for  the  full 
amount  of  her  loan.  She  began  at  once  to  save  what 
she  could  from  her  allowance.  And  she  called  this 
fund  her  "conscience  money." 

Miss  Tennant  and  David  Larkin  did  not  meet 
again  until  the  moment  of  the  latter's  departure  from 
Aiken.  And  she  was  only  one  of  a  number  who  drove 
to  the  station  to  see  him  off.  Possibly  to  guard  against 
his  impulsive  nature,  she  remained  in  her  runabout 
during  the  brief  farewell.  And  what  they  said  to  each 
other  might  have  been  (and  probably  was)  heard  by 
others. 

Aiken  felt  that  it  had  misjudged  Larkin,  and  he 
departed  in  high  favor.  He  had  paid  what  he  owed, 
so  Aiken  confessed  to  having  misjudged  his  resources. 
He  had  suddenly  stopped  short  in  all  evil  ways,  so 
Aiken  confessed  to  having  misjudged  his  strength  of 
character.  He  had  announced  that  he  was  going 

140 


SAPPHIRA 

out  West  to  seek  the  bubble  wealth  in  the  mouth  of 
an  Idaho  apple  valley,  so  Aiken  cheered  him  on  and 
wished  him  well.  And  when  Aiken  beheld  the  calm 
ness  of  his  farewells  to  Miss  Tennant,  Aiken  said: 
"And  he  seems  to  have  gotten  over  that." 

But  Larkin  had  done  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  lay  feverish  and  restless  in  a 
stuffy  upper  berth:  "It  isn't  because  she's  so  beau 
tiful  or  so  kind;  it's  because  she  always  speaks  the 
truth.  Most  girls  lie  about  everything,  not  in  so 
many  words,  perhaps,  but  in  fact.  She  doesn't.  She 
lets  you  know  what  she  thinks,  and  where  you  stand 
.  .  .  and  I  didn't  stand  very  high." 

Despair  seized  him.  How  is  it  possible  to  go  into 
a  strange  world,  with  only  nine  hundred  dollars  in 
your  pocket,  and  carve  a  fortune  ?  "  When  can  I  pay 
her  back?  What  must  I  do  if  I  fail?  .  .  ."  Then 
came  thoughts  that  were  as  grains  of  comfort.  Was 
her  lending  him  money  philanthropy  pure  and  simple, 
an  act  emanating  from  her  love  of  mankind?  Was 
it  not  rather  an  act  emanating  from  affection  for  a 
particular  man?  If  so,  that  man — misguided  boy, 
bird  tumbled  out  of  the  nest,  child  that  had  escaped 
from  its  nurse — was  not  hard  to  find.  "I  could  lay 
my  finger  on  him,"  thought  Larkin,  and  he  did  so — 
five  fingers,  somewhat  grandiosely  upon  the  chest.  A 
gas  lamp  peered  at  him  over  the  curtain  pole;  snores 

141 


SAPPHIRA 

shook  the  imprisoned  atmosphere  of  the  car.  And 
Larkin's  thoughts  flitted  from  the  past  and  future  to 
the  present. 

A  question  that  he  now  asked  himself  was:  "Do 
women  snore?"  And:  "If  people  cannot  travel  in 
drawing-rooms,  why  do  they  travel  at  all?"  The 
safety  of  his  nine  hundred  dollars  worried  him;  he 
knelt  up  to  look  in  the  inside  pocket  of  his  jacket,  and 
bumped  his  head,  a  dull,  solid  bump.  Pale  golden 
stars,  shaped  like  the  enlarged  pictures  of  snow-flakes, 
streamed  across  his  consciousness.  But  the  money 
was  safe. 

Already  his  nostrils  were  irritable  writh  cinders;  he 
attempted  to  blow  them  clear,  and  failed.  He  was 
terribly  thirsty.  He  wished  very  much  to  smoke. 
Whichever  way  he  turned,  the  frogs  on  the  uppers  of 
his  pajamas  made  painful  holes  in  him.  He  woke  at 
last  with  two  coarse  blankets  wrapped  firmly  about  his 
head  and  shoulders  and  the  rest  of  him  half-naked, 
gritty  with  cinders,  and  as  cold  as  a  well  curb.  Through 
the  ventilators  (tightly  closed)  daylight  was  struggling 
with  gas-light.  The  car  smelled  of  stale  steam  and 
man.  The  car  wheels  played  a  headachy  tune  to  the 
metre  of  the  Phcebe-Snow-upon-the-road-of-anthracite 
verses.  David  cursed  Phoebe  Snow,  and  determined 
that  if  ever  God  vouchsafed  him  a  honey-moon  it 
should  be  upon  the  clean,  fresh  ocean. 

142 


SAPPHIRA 

There  had  been  wistaria  in  Aiken.  There  was  snow 
in  New  York.  There  was  a  hurricane  in  Chicago. 
But  in  the  smoker  bound  West  there  was  a  fine  old 
gentleman  in  a  blue-serge  suit  and  white  spats  who 
took  a  fancy  to  David,  just  when  David  had  about 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  nothing  in  the  world 
looked  friendly  except  suicide. 

If  David  had  learned  nothing  else  from  Miss  Ten- 
nant,  he  had  learned  to  speak  the  truth.  "Any  em 
ployer  that  I  am  ever  to  have,"  he  resolved,  "shall 
know  all  that  there  is  to  be  known  about  me.  I  shall 
not  try  to  create  the  usual  impression  of  a  young  man 
seeking  his  fortune  in  the  West  purely  for  amuse 
ment."  And  so,  when  the  preliminaries  of  smoking- 
room  acquaintance  had  been  made — the  cigar  offered 
and  refused,  and  one's  reasons  for  or  against  smoking 
plainly  stated — David  was  offered  (and  accepted)  the 
opportunity  to  tell  the  story  of  his  life. 

David  shook  his  head  at  a  brilliantly  labelled  cigar 
eight  inches  long. 

"  I  love  to  smoke,"  he  said,  "  but  I've  promised  not 
to." 

"Better  habit  than  liquor,"  suggested  the  old  gen 
tleman  in  the  white  spats." 

"  I've  promised  not  to  drink." 

"  Men  who  don't  smoke  and  who  don't  drink,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  "  usually  spend  their  time  running 
after  the  girls.  My  name  is  Uriah  Grey." 

143 


SAPPHIRA 

"  Mine  is  David  Larkin,"  said  David,  and  he  smiled 
cheerfully,  "and  I've  promised  not  to  make  love." 

"  What — never  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Grey. 

"  Not  until  I  have  a  right  to,"  said  David. 

Mr.  Grey  drew  three  brightly  bound  volumes  from 
between  his  leg  and  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  intimated 
that  he  was  about  to  make  them  a  subject  of  remark. 

"I  love  stories,"  he  said,  "and  in  the  hope  of  a 
story  I  paid  a  dollar  and  a  half  for  each  of  three  novels. 
This  one  tells  you  how  to  prepare  rotten  meat  for  the 
market.  This  one  tells  you  when  and  where  to  find 
your  neighbor's  wife  without  being  caught.  And  in 
this  one  a  noble  young  Chicagoan  describes  the  life 
of  society  persons  in  the  effete  East." 

"  Whom  he  does  not  know  from  Adam,"  said  David. 

"Whom  he  does  not  distinguish  from  Adam,"  cor 
rected  Mr.  Grey.  "But  I  was  thinking  that  I  am 
disappointed  in  my  appetite  for  stories,  and  that 
just  now  you  made  a  most  enticing  beginning  as — 
'  I,  Roger  Slyweather  of  Slyweather  Hall,  Blankshire, 
England,  having  at  the  age  of  twenty-two  or  there 
abouts  made  solemn  promise  neither  to  smoke  nor  to 
drink,  nor  to  make  love,  did  set  forth  upon  a  bluster 
ing  day  in  April  .  .  .' ' 

"Oh,"  said  David,  "if  it's  my  story  you  want,  I 
don't  mind  a  bit.  It  will  chasten  me  to  tell  it,  and 
you  can  stop  me  the  minute  you  are  bored." 

And  then,  slip  by  slip  and  bet  by  bet,  he  told  his 
144 


SAPPHIRA 

story,  withholding  only  the  sex  of  that  dear  friend 
who  had  loaned  him  the  five  thousand  dollars,  and  to 
whom  he  had  bound  himself  by  promises. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  when  David  had  finished, 
"I  don't  know  your  holding-out  powers,  Larkin,  but 
you  do  certainly  speak  the  truth  without  mincing." 

"  That,"  said  David,  "  is  a  promise  I  have  made  to 
myself  in  admiration  of  and  emulation  of  my  friend. 
But  I  have  had  my  little  lesson,  and  I  shall  keep  the 
other  promises  until  I  have  made  good." 

"And  then?"   Mr.  Grey  beamed. 

"Then,"  said  David,  "I  shall  smoke  and  I  shall 
make  love." 

"But  no  liquor." 

David  laughed. 

"I  have  a  secret  clause  in  my  pledge,"  said  he; 
"it  is  not  to  touch  liquor  except  on  the  personal  in 
vitation  of  my  future  father-in-law,  whoever  he  may 
be."  But  he  had  Dolly  Tennant's  father  in  his  mind, 
and  the  joke  seemed  good  to  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Grey, "  I  don't  know  as  I'd  go  into 
apple-growing.  You  haven't  got  enough  capital." 

"  But,"  said  David,  "  I  intend  to  begin  at  the  bottom 
and  work  up." 

"  When  I  was  a  youngster,"  said  Mr.  Grey,  "  I  be 
gan  at  the  bottom  of  an  apple  tree  and  worked  my 
way  to  the  top.  There  I  found  a  wasp's  nest.  Then 

145 


SAPPHIRA 

I  fell  and  broke  both  arms.  That  was  a  lesson  to  me. 
Don't  go  up  for  your  pile,  my  boy.  Go  down.  Go 
down  into  the  beautiful  earth,  and  take  out  the  pre 
cious  metals." 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  David;  "you're  the 
Mr.  Grey  of  Denver." 

"I  have  a  car  hitched  on  to  this  train,"  said  the 
magnate;  "I'd  be  very  glad  of  your  company  at  din 
ner — seven-thirty.  It's  not  every  young  man  that  I'd 
invite.  But  seeing  that  you're  under  bond  not  to 
make  love  until  you've  made  good,  I  can  see  no  ob 
jection  to  introducing  you  to  my  granddaughter." 

"Grandpa,"  said  Miss  Violet  Grey,  who  was  six 
teen,  spoiled,  and  exquisite,  "make  that  poor  boy 
stop  off  at  Denver,  and  do  something  for  him." 

"Since  when,"  said  her  grandfather,  "have  you 
been  so  down  on  apples,  miss?" 

"Oh,"  said  she  with  an  approving  shudder,  "all 
good  women  fear  them — like  so  much  poison." 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Grey  (Mr.  "Iron  Grey,"  some 
called  him),  "  if  I  take  this  young  fellow  up,  it  won't 
be  to  put  him  down  in  a  drawing-room,  but  in  a  hole 
a  thousand  feet  deep,  or  thereabouts." 

"  And  when  he  comes  out,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  have 
returned  from  being  finished  in  Europe." 

"  Don't  know  what  there  is  so  attractive  about  these 
146 


SAPPHIRA 

young  Eastern  ne'er-do-weels,"  said  the  old  gentle 
man,  "  but  this  one  has  got  a  certain  something  .  .  ." 

"It's  his  inimitable  truthfulness,"  said  she. 

"Not  to  me,"  said  her  grandfather,  "so  much  as  the 
way  he  says  w  instead  of  r  and  at  the  same  time  gives 
the  impression  of  having  the  makings  of  a  man  in 
him.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  make  him,  grandpa,  do!" 

"And  if  I  make  him?"  The  old  gentleman  smiled 
provokingly. 

"Why,"  said  she,  "then  I'll  break  him." 

"Or,"  said  her  grandfather,  who  was  used  to  her 
sudden  fancies  and  subsequent  disenchantments,  "or 
else  you'll  shake  him." 

Then  he  pulled  her  ears  for  her  and  sent  her  to  bed. 

In  one  matter  David  was,  from  the  beginning  of  his 
new  career,  firmly  resolved.  He  would  in  no  case 
write  Miss  Tennant  of  his  hopes  and  fears.  If  he  was 
to  be  promoted  she  was  not  to  hear  of  it  until  after  the 
fact;  and  she  should  not  be  troubled  with  the  sordid 
details  of  his  savings-bank  account.  As  to  fears,  very 
great  at  first,  these  dwindled,  became  atrophied,  and 
were  consumed  in  the  fire  of  work  from  the  moment 
when  that  work  changed  from  a  daily  nuisance  to  a 
daily  miracle,  at  once  the  exercise  and  the  reward  of 
intelligence.  His  work,  really  light  at  first,  seemed 

147 


SAPPHIRA 

stupendous  to  him  because  he  did  not  understand 
it.  As  his  understanding  grew,  he  was  given  heavier 
work,  and  behold!  it  seemed  more  light.  He  discov 
ered  that  great  books  had  been  written  upon  every 
phase  of  bringing  forth  metal  from  the  great  mother 
earth;  and  he  snatched  from  long  days  of  toil  time 
for  more  toil,  and  burned  his  lamp  into  the  night,  so 
that  he  might  add  theory  to  practice. 

I  should  like  to  say  that  David's  swift  upward  career 
owed  thanks  entirely  to  his  own  good  habits,  newly 
discovered  gifts  for  mining  engineering,  and  industry; 
but  a  strict  regard  for  the  truth  prevents.  Upon  his 
own  resources  and  talents  he  must  have  succeeded  in 
the  end;  but  his  success  was  the  swifter  for  the  interest, 
and  presently  affection,  that  Uriah  Grey  himself  con 
tributed  toward  it.  In  short,  David's  chances  came 
to  him  as  soon  as  he  was  strong  enough  to  handle 
them,  and  were  even  created  on  purpose  for  him; 
whereas,  if  he  had  had  no  one  behind  him,  he  must 
have  had  to  wait  interminably  for  them.  But  the 
main  point,  of  course,  is  that,  as  soon  as  he  began  to 
understand  what  was  required  of  him,  he  began  to 
make  good. 

His  field  work  ended  about  the  time  that  Miss  Violet 
Grey  returned  from  Europe  "completely  finished  and 
done  up,"  as  she  put  it  herself,  and  he  became  a  fixture 
of  growing  importance  in  Mr.  Grey's  main  offices  in 

148 


SAPPHIRA 

Denver  and  a  thrill  in  Denver  society.     His  baby  tf  t 
instead  of  rolling  r's  thrilled  the  ladies;    his  goot 
habits  coupled  with  his  manliness  and  success  thrilled 
the  men. 

"  He  doesn't  drink,"  said  one. 

"  He  doesn't  smoke,"  said  another. 

"He  doesn't  bet,"  said  a  third. 

"He  can  look  the  saints  in  the  face,"  said  a  fourth; 
and  a  fifth,  looking  up,  thumped  upon  a  bell  that  would 
summon  a  waiter,  and  with  emphasis  said: 

"And  we  like  to  have  him  around!" 

Among  the  youngest  and  most  enthusiastic  men  it 
even  became  the  habit  to  copy  David  in  certain  things. 
He  was  responsible  for  a  small  wave  of  reform  in 
Denver,  as  he  had  once  been  in  Aiken;  but  for  the 
opposite  cause.  Little  dialogues  like  the  following 
might  frequently  be  heard  in  the  clubs: 

"Have  a  drink,  Billy?" 

"Thanks;  I  don't  drink." 

"Cigar,  Sam?" 

"Thanks  (with  a  moan);  don't  smoke." 

"Betcherfivedollars,  Ned." 

"Sorry,  old  man;  I  don't  bet." 

Or,  in  a  lowered  voice: 

"Say,  let's  drop  round  to " 

"I've  (chillingly)  cut  out  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

149 


SAPPHIRA 

sTlatonic  friendships  became  the  rage.  David  him- 
jelf,  as  leader,  maintained  a  dozen  such,  chiefest  of 
which  was  with  the  newly  finished  Miss  Grey.  At 
first  her  very  soul  revolted  against  a  friendship  of  this 
sort.  She  was  lovely,  and  she  knew  it;  with  lovely 
clothes  she  made  herself  even  lovelier,  and  she  knew 
this,  too.  She  was  young,  and  she  rejoiced  in  it. 
And  she  had  always  been  a  spoiled  darling,  and  she 
wished  to  be  made  much  of,  to  cause  a  dozen  hearts 
to  beat  in  the  breast  where  but  one  beat  before,  to 
be  followed,  waited  on,  adored,  bowed  down  to,  and 
worshipped.  She  wished  yellow-flowering  jealousy  to 
sprout  in  David's  heart  instead  of  the  calm  and  loyal 
friendliness  to  which  alone  the  soil  seemed  adapted. 
She  knew  that  he  often  wrote  letters  to  a  Miss  Tennant; 
and  she  would  have  liked  very  much  to  have  this  Miss 
Tennant  in  her  power,  and  to  have  scalped  her  there 
and  then. 

This  was  only  at  first,  when  she  merely  fancied 
David  rather  more  than  other  young  men.  But  a 
time  came  when  her  fancy  was  stronger  for  him  than 
that;  and  then  it  seemed  to  her  that  even  his  pla tonic 
friendship  was  worth  more  than  all  the  great  passions 
of  history  rolled  into  one.  Then  from  the  character 
of  that  spoiled  young  lady  were  wiped  clean  away,  as 
the  sponge  wipes  marks  from  a  slate,  vanity,  whims, 
temper,  tantrums,  thoughtlessness,  and  arrogance,  and 

150 


SAPPHIRA 

in  their  places  appeared  the  opposites.  She  sought 
out  hard  spots  in  people's  lives  and  made  them  soft; 
sympathy  and  gentleness  radiated  from  her;  thought- 
fulness  and  steadfastness. 

Her  grandfather,  who  had  been  reading  Ibsen,  re 
marked  to  himself:  "It  may  be  artistically  and  dra 
matically  inexcusable  for  the  ingenue  suddenly  to  be 
come  the  heroine — but  /  like  it.  As  to  the  cause — " 
and  the  old  gentleman  rested  in  his  deep  chair  till  far 
into  the  night,  twiddling  his  thumbs  and  thinking  long 
thoughts.  Finally,  frowning  and  troubled,  he  rose  and 
went  off  to  his  bed. 

"Is  it,"  thought  he,  "because  he  gave  his  word  not 
to  make  love  until  he  had  made  good — or  is  it  because 
he  really  doesn't  give  a  damn  about  poor  little  Vi? 
If  it's  the  first  reason,  why  he's  absolved  from  that 
promise,  because  he  has  made  good,  and  every  day 
he's  making  better.  But  if  it's  the  second  reason, 
why  then  this  world  is  a  wicked,  dreary  place.  Poor 
little  Vi — poor  little  Vi  .  .  .  only  two  things  in  the 
whole  universe  that  she  can't  get — the  moon,  and 
David — the  moon,  and  David " 

About  noon  the  next  day,  David  requested  speech 
with  his  chief. 

"Well?"  said  Uriah.  The  old  man  looked  worn 
and  feeble.  He  had  had  a  sorrowful  night. 

151 


SAPPHIRA 

"I  haven't  had  a  vacation  in  a  year/'  said  David. 
"Will  you  give  me  three  weeks,  sir?" 

"  Want  to  go  back  East  and  payoff  your  obligations  ?  " 

David  nodded. 

"I  have  the  money  and  interest  in  hand,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Grey  smiled. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  come  back  smoking  like  a  chim 
ney,  drinking  like  a  fish,  betting  like  a  book-maker, 
and  keeping  a  whole  chorus  in  picture-hats." 

"  I  think  I'll  not  even  smoke,"  said  David.  "  About 
a  month  ago  the  last  traces  of  hankering  left  me,  and 
I  feel  like  a  free  man  at  last." 

"  But  you'll  be  making  love  right  and  left,"  said  Mr. 
Grey  cheerfully,  but  with  a  shrewd  eye  upon  the  young 
man's  expression  of  face. 

David  looked  grave  and  troubled.  He  appeared 
to  be  turning  over  difficult  matters  in  his  mind.  Then 
he  smiled  gayly. 

"At  least  I  shall  be  free  to  make  love  if  I  want  to." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Grey.  "People  don't  make 
love  because  they  want  to.  They  do  it  because  they 
have  to." 

Again  David  looked  troubled,  and  a  little  sad,  per 
haps. 

"  True,"  said  he.  And  he  walked  meditatively  back 
to  his  own  desk,  took  up  a  pen,  meditated  for  a  long 
time,  and  then  wrote: 

152 


SAPPHIRA 

Best  friend  that  any  man  ever  had  in  the  world!  I  shall  be  in 
Aiken  on  the  twenty-fifth,  bringing  with  me  that  which  I  owe,  and 
can  pay,  and  deeply  conscious  of  that  deeper  debt  that  I  owe,  but 
never  can  hope  to  pay.  But  I  will  do  what  I  can.  I  will  not  now 
take  back  the  promises  I  gave,  unless  you  wish;  I  will  not  do  any 
thing  that  you  do  not  wish.  And  if  all  the  service  and  devotion 
that  is  in  me  for  the  rest  of  time  seem  worth  having  to  you,  they 

are  yours.    But  you  know  that. 

DAVID. 


This,  looking  white,  tired,  and  austere,  he  reread, 
folded,  enveloped,  stamped,  sealed,  and  addressed  to 
Miss  Tennant. 

Neither  the  hand  which  Miss  Tennant  laid  on  his, 
nor  the  cigarette  which  she  lighted  for  him,  completely 
mollified  Mr.  Billy  McAllen.  He  was  no  longer  young 
enough  to  dance  with  pleasure  to  a  maiden's  whims. 
The  experience  of  dancing  from  New  York  to  New 
port  and  back,  and  over  the  deep  ocean  and  back,  and 
up  and  down  Europe  and  back  with  the  late  Mrs. 
McAllen — now  Mrs.  Jimmie  Greenleaf — had  sufficed. 
He  would  walk  to  the  altar  any  day  with  Miss  Ten 
nant,  but  he  would  not  dance. 

"  You  have  so  many  secrets  with  yourself/*  he  com 
plained,  "and  I'm  so  very  reasonable." 

"True,  Billy,"  said  Miss  Tennant.  "But  if  I  put 
up  with  your  secrets,  you  should  put  up  with  mine." 

"I  have  none,"  said  he,  "unless  you  are  rudely 
153 


SAPPHIRA 

referring  to  the  fact  that  I  gave  my  wife  such  grounds 
for  divorce  as  every  gentleman  must  be  prepared  to 
give  to  a  lady  who  has  tired  of  him.  I  might  have 
contracted  a  pleasant  liaison;  but  I  didn't.  I  merely 
drove  up  and  down  Piccadilly  with  a  notorious  woman 
until  the  courts  were  sufficiently  scandalized.  You 
know  that." 

"  But  is  it  nothing,"  she  said,  "  to  have  me  feel  this 
way  toward  you?"  And  she  leaned  and  rested  her 
lovely  cheek  against  his. 

"At  least,  Dolly,"  said  he,  more  gently,  "announce 
our  engagement,  and  marry  me  inside  of  six  months. 
I've  been  patient  for  eighteen.  It  would  have  been 
easy  if  you  had  given  a  good  reason.  .  .  ." 

"My  reason,"  said  she,  "will  be  in  Aiken  to 
morrow." 

"  You  speak  with  such  assurance,"  said  he,  smiling, 
"that  I  feel  sure  your  reason  is  not  travelling  by  the 
Southern.  And  you'll  tell  me  the  reason  to-morrow  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Not  to-morrow,  Billy — now." 

He  made  no  comment,  fearing  that  she  might  seize 
upon  any  as  a  pretext  for  putting  him  off.  But  he 
slipped  an  arm  around  her  waist. 

"Tighter  if  you  like,"  she  said.  "I  don't  mind. 
My  reason,  Billy,  is  a  young  man.  Don't  let  your  arm 
slacken  that  way.  I  don't  see  any  one  or  anything 

154 


SAPPHIRA 

beyond  you  in  any  direction  in  this  world.  You 
know  that.  There  is  nothing  in  the  expression  'a 
young  man*  to  turn  you  suddenly  cold  toward  me. 
Don't  be  a  goose.  .  .  .  Not  so  tight."  They  laughed 
happily.  "I  will  even  tell  you  his  name,"  she  re 
sumed — "David  Larkin;  and  I  was  a  little  gone  on 
him,  and  he  was  over  ears  with  me.  You  weren't  in 
Aiken  the  year  he  was.  Well,  he  misbehaved  some 
thing  dreadful,  Billy;  betted  himself  into  a  deep,  deep 
hole,  and  tried  to  float  himself  out.  I  took  him  in 
hand,  loaned  him  money,  and  took  his  solemn  word 
that  he  would  not  even  make  love  until  he  had  paid  me 
back.  There  was  no  real  understanding  between  us, 
only " 

"  Only  ?  "     McAllen  was  troubled. 

"Only  I  think  he  couldn't  have  changed  suddenly 
from  a  little  fool  into  a  man  if  he  hadn't  felt  that  there 
was  an  understanding.  And  his  letters,  one  every 
week,  confirm  that;  though  he's  very  careful,  because 
of  his  promise,  not  to  make  love  in  them.  .  .  .  You 
see,  he's  been  working  his  head  off — there's  no  way 
out  of  it,  Billy — for  me.  .  .  .  If  you  hadn't  crossed 
my  humble  path  I  think  I  should  have  possessed 
enough  sentiment  for  David  to  have  been — the  re 
ward." 

"But  there  was  no  understanding." 

"  No.  Not  in  so  many  words.  But  at  the  last  talk 
155 


SAPPHIRA 

we  had  together  he  was  humble  and  pathetic  and  rather 
manly,  and  I  did  a  very  foolish  thing." 

"What?" 

"Oh,"  she  said  with  a  blush,  "I  sat  still." 

"Let  me  blot  it  out,"  said  McAllen,  drawing  her 
very  close. 

"  But  I  can  only  remember  up  to  seven,"  said  she, 
"and  I  am  afraid  that  nothing  can  blot  them  out  as 
far  as  David  is  concerned.  He  will  come  to-morrow 
as  sure  that  I  have  been  faithful  to  him  as  that  he  has 
been  faithful  to  me.  .  .  .  It's  all  very  dreadful.  .  .  . 
He  will  pay  me  back  the  money,  and  the  interest;  and 
then  I  shall  give  him  back  the  promises  that  he  gave, 
and  then  he  will  make  love  to  me.  .  .  ." 

She  sighed,  and  said  that  the  thought  of  the  pickle 
she  had  got  herself  into  made  her  temples  ache. 
McAllen  kissed  them  for  her. 

"But  why,"  he  said,  " when  you  got  to  care  for  me, 
didn't  you  let  this  young  man  learn  gradually  in  your 
letters  to  him  that — that  it  was  all  off  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid,  don't  you  see,"  said  she,  "  that  if  the 
incentive  was  suddenly  taken  away  from  him — he 
might  go  to  pieces.  And  I  was  fond  of  him,  and  I  am 
proud  to  think  that  he  has  made  good  for  my  sake, 
and  the  letters.  .  .  .  Oh,  Billy,  it's  a  dreadful  mess. 
My  letters  to  him  have  been  rather  warm,  I  am  afraid." 

"Damn!"  said  McAllen. 
156 


SAPPHIRA 

"Damn!"  said  Miss  Tennant. 

"  If  he  would  have  gone  to  pieces  before  this,"  said 
McAIlen,  "why  not  now? — after  you  tell  him,  I 
mean." 

"Why  not?"  said  she  dismally.  "But  if  he  does, 
Billy,  I  can  only  be  dreadfully  sorry.  I'm  certainly 
not  going  to  wreck  our  happiness  just  to  keep  him 
on  the  war-path." 

"But  you'll  not  be  weak,  Dolly?" 

"How!— weak?" 

"He'll  be  very  sad  and  miserable — you  won't  be 
carried  away?  You  won't,  upon  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  feel  that  it  is  your  duty  to  go  on  saving  him  ? 
...  If  that  should  happen,  Dolly,  /  should  go  to 
pieces." 

"Must  I  tell  him,"  she  said,  "that  I  never  really 
cared?  He  will  think  me  such  a — a  liar.  And  I'm 
not  a  liar,  Billy,  am  I  ?  I'm  just  unlucky." 

"  I  don't  believe,"  said  he  tenderly,  "  that  you  ever 
told  a  story  in  your  whole  sweet  life." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  I  do  love  you  when  you  say  things 
like  that  to  me.  .  .  .  Let's  not  talk  about  horrid  things 
any  more,  and  mistakes,  and  bugbears.  ...  If  we're 
going  to  show  up  at  the  golf  club  tea.  .  .  .  It's  Mrs. 
Carrol's  to-day  and  we  promised  her  to  come." 

"Oh,"  said  McAIlen,  "we  need  not  start  for  ten 
minutes.  .  .  .  When  will  you  marry  me?" 

157 


SAPPHIRA 

"In  May,"  she  said. 

"Good  girl,"  said  he. 

"Billy,"  she  said  presently,  "it  was  all  the  first  Mrs. 
Billy's  fault— wasn't  it?" 

"No,  dear,"  said  he,  "it  wasn't.     It's  never  all  of 
anybody's  fault.     Do  you  care?" 

"No." 

"Are  you  afraid?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes." 

"How  much?" 

"So  much,"  and  she  made  the  gesture  that  a  baby 
makes  when  you  ask,  "How  big's  the  baby?" 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Dolly." 

"Whose  girl  are  you?" 

"I'm  Billy  McAllen's  girl." 

"All  of  you?" 

She  grew  very  serious  in  a  moment. 

"  All  of  me,  Billy — all  that  is  straight  in  me,  all  that 
is  crooked,  all  that  is  white,  all  that  is  black.  .  .  ." 

But  he  would  not  be  serious. 

"  How  about  this  hand  ?     Is  that  mine  ?  " 

"Yours." 

He  kissed  it. 

"This  cheek?" 

158 


SAPPHIRA 

"Yours." 

"And  this?" 

"Yours." 

"These  eyes?" 

"Both  yours." 

He  closed  them,  first  one,  then  the  other. 

Then  a  kind  of  trembling  seized  him,  so  that  it  was 
evident  in  his  speech. 

"This  mouth,  Dolly?" 

"Mumm." 

And  so,  as  the  romantic  school  has  it,  "  the  long  day 
dragged  slowly  on." 

David  may  have  thought  it  pure  chance  that  he 
should  find  Dolly  Tennant  alone.  But  it  was  not. 
She  had  given  the  matter  not  a  little  strategy  and  ar 
rangement.  Why,  however,  in  view  of  her  relations 
with  McAllen,  she  should  have  made  herself  as  attrac 
tive  as  possible  to  the  eye  is  for  other  women  to  say. 

It  was  to  be  April  in  a  few  days,  and  March  was 
going  out  like  a  fiery  dragon.  The  long,  broad  shadow 
of  the  terrace  awning  helped  to  darken  the  Tennants' 
drawing-room,  and  Venetian  blinds,  half-drawn,  made 
a  kind  of  cool  dusk,  in  which  it  came  natural  to  speak 
in  a  lowered  voice,  and  to  move  quietly,  as  if  some  one 
were  sick  in  the  house.  Miss  Tennant  sat  very  low, 
with  her  hands  clasped  over  her  knees;  a  brocade 

159 


SAPPHIRA 

and  Irish  lace  work-bag  spilled  its  contents  at  her  feet. 
She  wore  a  twig  of  tea  olive  in  her  dress  so  that  the 
whole  room  smelled  of  ripe  peaches.  She  had  never 
looked  lovelier  or  more  desirable. 

"  David !"  she  exclaimed.  Her  tone  at  once  ex 
pressed  delight  at  seeing  him,  and  was  an  apology  for 
remaining  languidly  seated.  And  she  looked  him 
over  in  a  critical,  maternal  way. 

"If  you  hadn't  sent  in  your  name,"  she  said,  "I 
should  never  have  known  you.  You  stand  taller  and 
broader,  David.  You  filled  the  door-way.  But  you're 
not  really  much  bigger,  now  that  I  look  at  you.  It's 
your  character  that  has  grown.  .  .  .  I'm  so  proud  of 
you." 

David  was  very  pale.  It  may  have  been  from  his 
long  journey.  But  he  at  least  did  not  know,  because 
he  said  that  he  didn't  when  she  asked  him. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  "you  must  tell  me  all  that 
you  haven't  written." 

"Not  quite  yet,"  said  David.  "There  is  first  a 
little  matter  of  business.  .  .  ." 

"Oh—"  she  protested. 

But  David  counted  out  his  debt  to  her  methodically, 
with  the  accrued  interest. 

"Put  it  in  my  work-bag,"  she  said. 

"  Did  you  ever  expect  to  see  it  again  ? " 

"Yes,  David." 

160 


SAPPHIRA 

"Thank  you,"  he  said. 

"  But  I,"  she  said,  "  I,  too,  have  things  of  yours  to 
return." 

"Of  mine?"     He  lifted  his  eyebrows  expectantly. 

She  waved  a  hand,  white  and  clean  as  a  cherry  blos 
som,  toward  a  claw-footed  table  on  which  stood  de 
canters,  ice,  soda,  cigarettes,  cigars,  and  matches. 

"Your  collateral,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,"  said  David.  "  But  I  have  decided  not  to  be 
a  backslider." 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  But  in  business — as  a  mat 
ter  of  form." 

"  Oh,"  said  David,  "  if  it's  a  matter  of  form,  it  must 
be  complied  with." 

He  stepped  to  the  table,  smiling  charmingly,  and 
poured  from  the  nearest  decanter  into  a  glass,  added 
ice  and  soda,  and  lifting  the  mixture  touched  it  to  his 
lips,  and  murmured,  "To  you." 

Then  he  put  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  and,  after 
drawing  the  one  breath  that  served  to  light  it,  flicked 
it,  with  perfect  accuracy,  half  across  the  room  and 
into  the  fireplace. 

Still  smiling,  he  walked  slowly  toward  Miss  Ten- 
nant,  who  was  really  excited  to  know  what  he  would 
do  next. 

"  Betcher  two  cents  it  snows  to-morrow,"  said  he. 

"  Done  with  you,  David,"  she  took  him  up  merrily. 
161 


SAPPHIRA 

And  after  that  a  painful  silence  came  over  them. 
David  set  his  jaws. 

"  I  gave  you  one  more  promise,"  he  said.  "  Is  that, 
too,  returned?" 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "all  the  promises  you  gave 
are  herewith  returned." 

"Then  I  may  make  love?"  he  asked  very  gently. 

She  did  not  answer  for  some  moments,  and  then, 
steeling  herself,  for  she  thought  that  she  must  hurt  him: 

"Yes,  David,"  she  said  slowly,  "you  may — as  a 
matter  of  form." 

"Only  in  that  way?" 

"In  that  way  only,  David — to  me." 

"  I  thought — I  thought,"  said  the  young  man  in  con 
fusion. 

"  I  made  you  think  so,"  she  said  generously.  "  Let 
all  of  the  punishment,  that  can,  be  heaped  on  me  .  .  . 
David  ..."  There  was  a  deep  appeal  in  her  voice 
as  for  mercy  and  forgiveness. 

"Then,"  said  he,  "you  never  did  care — at  all." 

But  even  at  this  juncture  Miss  Tennant  could  not 
speak  the  truth. 

"Never,  David — never  at  all — at  least  not  in  that 
way,"  she  said.  "  If  I  let  you  think  so  it  was  because 
I  thought  it  would  help  you  to  be  strong  and  to  suc 
ceed.  .  .  .  God  knows  I  think  I  was  wrong  to  let  you 
think  so.  ..." 

162 


SAPPHIRA 

But  she  broke  off  suddenly  a  stream  of  extenuation 
that  was  welling  in  her  mind;  for  David  did  not  look 
like  a  man  about  to  be  cut  off  in  the  heyday  of  his 
youth  by  despair. 

She  had  the  tenderest  heart;  and  in  a  moment  the 
truth  blossomed  therein — a  truth  that  brought  her 
pleasure,  bewilderment,  and  was  not  unmixed  with 
mortification. 

"  The  man,"  she  said  gently,  "  has  found  him  another 
girl!" 

The  man  bowed  his  head  and  blushed. 

"But  I  have  kept  my  promise,  Dolly." 

"  Of  course  you  have,  you  poor,  dear,  long-suffering 
soul.  Oh,  David,  when  I  think  what  I  have  been  tak 
ing  for  granted  I  am  humiliated,  and  ashamed — but  I 
am  glad,  too.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad." 

A  pair  of  white  gloves,  still  showing  the  shape  of 
her  hands,  lay  in  the  chair  where  Miss  Tennant  had 
tossed  them.  David  brought  her  one  of  these  gloves. 

"Put  it  on,"  he  said. 

When  she  had  done  so,  he  took  her  gloved  hand  in 
his  and  kissed  it. 

"As  a  matter  of  form,"  he  said. 

She  laughed  easily,  though  the  blush  of  humiliation 
had  not  yet  left  her  cheeks. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "what  you  would  have  done, 
David,  if— if  I  did  care." 

163 


SAPPHIRA 

"  God  punish  me,"  he  said  gravely,  "  oh,  best  friend 
that  ever  a  man  had  in  the  world,  if  I  should  not  then 
have  made  you  a  good  husband." 

Not  long  after  McAllen  was  with  her. 

"Well?  "he  said. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  there  was  a  train  that  he  could 
catch.  And  I  suppose  he  caught  it." 

"How  did  he— er,  behave?" 

"  Considering  the  circumstances,"  said  she,  "  he  be 
haved  very  well." 

"Is  he  hard  hit?" 

She  considered  a  while;  but  the  strict  truth  was  not 
in  that  young  lady. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  you  may  say  that  he  is 
hard  hit — very  hard  hit." 

"  Poor  soul,"  said  Billy  tenderly. 

"Oh,  Billy!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  feel  so  false  and  so 
old." 

"Old!"  he  cried.  "You!  You  at  twenty-five  say 
that  to  me  at " 

"  It  isn't  as  if  I  was  just  twenty-five,  Billy,"  and  she 
burst  out  laughing.  "The  terrible  part  of  it  is  that 
I'm  still  twenty-five." 

But  he  only  smiled  and  smiled.  She  seemed  like  a 
little  child  to  him,  all  innocence,  and  inexperience,  and 
candor. 

164 


SAPPHIRA 

Then  as  her  laughter  merged  into  tears  he  knelt  and 
caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Dolly— Dolly ! "  he  said  in  a  choking  voice.  "  What 
is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Dolly."     The  tears  came  slowly. 

"Whose  girl  are  you?" 

"I'm  Billy  McAllen's  girl."     The  tears  ceased. 

"All  of  you?" 

"All  of  me.  .  .  .  Oh,  Billy — love  me  always — only 
love  me.  ..." 

And  for  these  two  the  afternoon  dragged  slowly  on, 
and  very  much  as  usual. 

"  You  are  two  days  ahead  of  schedule,  David.  I'm 
glad  to  see  you." 

Though  Uriah  Grey's  smile  was  bland  and  simple, 
beneath  it  lay  a  complicated  maze  of  speculation;  and 
the  old  man  endeavored  to  read  in  the  young  man's 
face  the  answers  to  those  questions  which  so  greatly 
concerned  him.  Uriah  Grey's  eyesight  was  famous 
for  two  things:  for  its  miraculous,  almost  chemical 
ability  to  detect  the  metals  in  ore  and  the  gold  in  men. 
He  sighed;  but  not  so  that  David  could  hear.  The 
magnate  detected  happiness  where  less  than  two  weeks 
before  he  had  read  doubt,  hesitation,  and  a  kind  of 
dumb  misery. 

"You  have  had  a  pleasant  holiday?" 
165 


SAPPHIRA 

"A  happy  one,  Mr.  Grey."  David's  eyes  twinkled 
and  sparkled. 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"Well,  sir,  I  paid  my  debts  and  got  back  my  col 
lateral." 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  I  tasted  whiskey,"  said  David.  "  I  lighted  a  ciga 
rette,  I  registered  a  bet  of  two  cents  upon  the  weather, 
and  I  made  love." 

Uriah  Grey  with  difficulty  suppressed  a  moan. 

"Did  you!"  he  said  dully. 

"Yes,"  said  David.  "I  kissed  the  glove  upon  a 
lady's  hand."  He  laughed.  "  It  smelled  of  gasoline," 
he  said. 

Mr.  Grey  grunted. 

"And  what  are  your  plans?" 

"  What ! "  cried  David  offendedly.  "  Are  you  through 
with  me?" 

"  No,  my  boy — no." 

David  hesitated. 

"Mr.  Grey,"  he  began,  and  paused. 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  It  is  now  lawful  for  me  to  make  love,"  said  David; 
"  but  I  should  do  so  with  a  better  grace  if  I  had  your 
permission  and  approval." 

Mr.  Grey  was  puzzled. 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  it?" 
166 


SAPPHIRA 

"You  have  a  granddaughter  ..." 

"What!"  thundered  the  old  man.  "You  want  to 
make  love  to  my  granddaughter!" 

"  Yes,"  said  David  boldly,  "  and  I  wonder  what  you 
are  going  to  say." 

"  I  have  only  one  word  to  say — Hurry ! " 

"David!" 

Spools  of  silk  rattled  from  her  lap  to  the  floor.  She 
was  frankly  and  childishly  delighted  to  see  him  again, 
and  she  hurried  to  him  and  gave  him  both  her  hands. 
But  he  looked  so  happy  that  her  heart  misgave  her  for 
a  moment,  and  then  she  read  his  eyes  aright,  just  as 
long  since  he  must  have  read  the  confession  in  hers. 
At  this  juncture  in  their  lives  there  could  not  have  been 
detected  in  either  of  them  the  least  show  of  hesitation 
or  embarrassment.  It  was  as  if  two  travellers  in  the 
desert,  dying  of  thirst,  should  meet,  and  each  conceive 
in  hallucination  that  the  other  was  a  spring  of  sweet 
water. 

Presently  David  was  looking  into  the  lovely  face 
that  he  held  between  his  hands.  He  had  by  this  time 
squeezed  her  shoulders,  patted  her  back,  kissed  her 
feet,  her  dress,  her  hands,  her  eyes,  and  pawed  her 
hair.  They  were  both  very  short  of  breath. 

"Violet,"  he  gasped,  "what  is  your  name?" 

"Violet." 

167 


SAPPHIRA 

"Whose  girl  are  you?" 

"I'm  David  Larkin's  girl/' 

"All  of  you?" 

"All— all— all " 

It  was  the  beginning  of  another  of  those  long,  tedious 
afternoons.  But  to  the  young  people  concerned  it 
seemed  that  never  until  then  had  such  words  as  they 
spoke  to  each  other  been  spoken,  or  such  feelings  of 
almost  insupportable  tenderness  and  adoration  been 
experienced. 

Yet  back  there  in  Aiken,  Sapphira  was  experiencing 
the  same  feelings,  and  thinking  the  same  thoughts 
about  them;  and  so  was  Billy  McAllen.  And  when 
you  think  that  he  had  already  been  divorced  once,  and 
that  Sapphira,  as  she  herself  (for  once  truthfully)  con 
fessed,  was  still  twenty-five,  it  gives  you  as  high  an 
opinion  of  the  little  bare  god — as  he  deserves. 


168 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 


Only  Farallone's  face  was  untroubled.  His  big, 
bold  eyes  held  a  kind  of  grim  humor,  and  he  rolled 
them  unblinkingly  from  the  groom  to  the  bride,  and 
back  again.  His  duck  trousers,  drenched  and  stained 
with  sea-water,  clung  to  the  great  muscles  of  his  legs, 
particles  of  damp  sand  glistened  upon  his  naked  feet, 
and  the  hairless  bronze  of  his  chest  and  columnar 
throat  glowed  through  the  openings  of  his  torn  and 
buttonless  shirt.  Except  for  the  life  and  vitality  that 
literally  sparkled  from  him,  he  was  more  like  a  statue 
of  a  shipwrecked  sailor  than  the  real  article  itself. 
Yet  he  had  not  the  proper  attributes  of  a  shipwrecked 
sailor.  There  was  neither  despair  upon  his  coun 
tenance  nor  hunger;  instead  a  kind  of  enjoyment, 
and  the  expression  of  one  who  has  been  set  free. 
Indeed,  he  must  have  secured  a  kind  of  liberty,  for 
after  the  years  of  serving  one  master  and  another,  he 
had,  in  our  recent  struggle  with  the  sea,  but  served 
himself.  His  was  the  mind  and  his  the  hand  that 
had  brought  us  at  length  to  that  desert  coast.  He  it 

171 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

was  that  had  extended  to  us  the  ghost  of  a  chance. 
He  who  so  recently  had  been  but  one  of  forty  in 
the  groom's  luxurious  employ;  a  polisher  of  brass, 
a  holy-stoner  of  decks,  a  wage-earning  paragon  who 
was  not  permitted  to  think,  was  now  a  thinker  and 
a  strategist,  a  wage-taker  from  no  man,  and  the  ob 
vious  master  of  us  three. 

The  bride  slept  on  the  sand  where  Farallone  had 
laid  her.  Her  stained  and  draggled  clothes  were 
beginning  to  dry  and  her  hair  to  blaze  in  the  pulsing 
rays  of  the  sun.  Her  breath  came  and  went  with  the 
long-drawn  placidity  of  deep  sleep.  One  shoe  had 
been  torn  from  her  by  the  surf,  and  through  a  tear 
in  her  left  stocking  blinked  a  pink  and  tiny  toe.  Her 
face  lay  upon  her  arm  and  was  hidden  by  it,  and  by 
her  blazing  hair.  In  the  loose-jointed  abandon  of  ex 
haustion  and  sleep  she  had  the  effect  of  a  flower  that 
has  wilted;  the  color  and  the  fabric  were  still  lovely, 
but  the  robust  erectness  and  crispness  were  gone. 
The  groom,  almost  unmanned  and  wholly  forlorn,  sat 
beside  her  in  a  kind  of  huddled  attitude,  as  if  he  was 
very  cold.  He  had  drawn  his  knees  close  to  his  chest, 
and  held  them  in  that  position  with  thin,  clasped 
fingers.  His  hair,  which  he  wore  rather  long,  was 
in  a  wild  tangle,  and  his  neat  eye-glasses  with  their 
black  cord  looked  absurdly  out  of  keeping  with  his 
general  dishevelment.  The  groom,  never  strong  or 

172 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

robust,  looked  as  if  he  had  shrunk.  The  bride,  too, 
looked  as  if  she  had  shrunk,  and  I  certainly  felt  as  if 
I  had.  But,  however  strong  the  contrast  between 
us  three  small  humans  and  the  vast  stretches  of  empty 
ocean  and  desert  coast,  there  was  no  diminution  about 
Farallone,  but  the  contrary.  I  have  never  seen  the 
presence  of  a  man  loom  so  strongly  and  so  large.  He 
sat  upon  his  rock  with  a  kind  of  vastness,  so  bold  and 
strong  he  seemed,  so  utterly  unperturbed. 

Suddenly  the  groom,  a  kind  of  querulous  shiver  in 
his  voice,  spoke. 

"The  brandy,  Farallone,  the  brandy." 

The  big  sailor  rolled  his  bold  eyes  from  the  groom 
to  the  bride,  but  returned  no  answer. 

The  groom's  voice  rose  to  a  note  of  vexation. 

"I  said  I  wanted  the  brandy,"  he  said. 

Farallone's  voice  was  large  and  free  like  a  fresh 
breeze. 

"I  heard  you,"  said  he. 

"Well,"  snapped  the  groom,  "get  it." 

"Get  it  yourself,"  said  Farallone  quickly,  and  he 
fell  to  whistling  in  a  major  key. 

The  groom,  born  and  accustomed  to  command,  was 
on  his  feet  shaking  with  fury. 

"You  damned  insolent  loafer — "  he  shouted. 

"Cut  it  out — cut  it  out,"  said  the  big  sailor,  "you'll 
wake  her." 

The  groom's  voice  sank  to  an  angry  whisper. 
173 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"  Are  you  going  to  do  what  I  tell  you  or  not  ? " 

"Not,"  said  Farallone. 

"  I'll " — the  groom's  voice  loudened — his  eye  sought 
an  ally  in  mine.  But  I  turned  my  face  away  and 
pretended  that  I  had  not  seen  or  heard.  There  had 
been  born  in  my  breast  suddenly  a  cold  unreasoning 
fear  of  Farallone  and  of  what  he  might  do  to  us 
weaklings.  I  heard  no  more  words  and,  venturing 
a  look,  saw  that  the  groom  was  seating  himself  once 
more  by  the  bride. 

"If  you  sit  on  the  other  side  of  her,"  said  Faral 
lone,  "you'll  keep  the  sun  off  her  head." 

He  turned  his  bold  eyes  on  me  and  winked  one  of 
them.  And  I  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  I  winked 
back  and  could  have  kicked  myself  for  doing  so. 


II 


Farallone  helped  the  bride  to  her  feet.  "That's 
right/'  he  said  with  a  kind  of  nursely  playfulness,  and 
he  turned  to  the  groom. 

"Because  I  told  you  to  help  yourself,"  he  said, 
"doesn't  mean  that  I'm  not  going  to  do  the  lion's 
share  of  everything.  I  am.  I'm  fit.  You  and  the 
writer  man  aren't.  But  you  must  do  just  a  little 
more  than  you're  able,  and  that's  all  we'll  ask  of  you. 
Everybody  works  this  voyage  except  the  woman." 

"I  can  work,"  said  the  bride. 
174 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"Rot!"  said  Farallone.  "We'll  ask  you  to  walk 
ahead,  like  a  kind  of  north  star.  Only  we'll  tell  you 
which  way  to  turn.  Do  you  see  that  sugar-loaf? 
You  head  for  that.  Vamoose!  We'll  overhaul  you." 

The  bride  moved  upon  the  desert  alone,  her  face 
toward  an  easterly  hill  that  had  given  Farallone  his 
figure  of  the  sugar-loaf.  She  had  no  longer  the  effect 
of  a  wilted  flower,  but  walked  with  quick,  considered 
steps.  What  the  groom  carried  and  what  I  carried  is 
of  little  moment.  Our  packs  united  would  not  have 
made  the  half  of  the  lumbersome  weight  that  Faral 
lone  swung  upon  his  giant  shoulders. 

"Follow  the  woman,"  said  he,  and  we  began  to 
march  upon  the  shoe-and-stocking  track  of  the  bride. 
Farallone,  rolling  like  a  ship  (I  had  many  a  look  at 
him  over  my  shoulder)  brought  up  the  rear.  From 
time  to  time  he  flung  forward  a  phrase  to  us  in  ex 
planation  of  his  rebellious  attitude. 

"I  take  command  because  I'm  fit;  you're  not.  I 
give  the  orders  because  I  can  get  'em  obeyed;  you 
can't."  And,  again:  "You  don't  know  east  from 
west;  I  do." 

All  the  morning  he  kept  firing  disagreeable  and  very 
personal  remarks  at  us.  His  proposition  that  we  were 
not  in  any  way  fit  for  anything  he  enlarged  upon 
and  illustrated.  He  flung  the  groom's  unemployed 
ancestry  at  him;  he  likened  the  groom  to  Rome  at 

175 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

the  time  of  the  fall,  which  he  attributed  to  lux 
ury;  he  informed  me  that  only  men  who  were  unable 
to  work,  or  in  any  way  help  themselves,  wrote  books. 
"The  woman's  worth  the  two  of  you,"  he  said. 
"  Her  people  were  workers.  See  it  in  her  stride.  She 
could  milk  a  cow  if  she  had  one.  If  anything  hap 
pens  to  me  she'll  give  the  orders.  Mark  my  words. 
She's  got  a  head  on  her  shoulders,  she  has." 

The  bride  halted  suddenly  in  her  tracks  and,  turn 
ing,  faced  the  groom. 

"Are  you  going  to  allow  this  man's  insolence  to  run 
on  forever?"  she  said. 

The  groom  frowned  at  her  and  shook  his  head 
covertly. 

"  Pooh,"  said  the  bride,  and  I  think  I  heard  her  call 
him  "  my  champion"  in  a  bitter  whisper.  She  walked 
straight  back  to  Farallone  and  looked  him  fearlessly 
in  the  face. 

"The  bigger  a  man  is,  Mr.  Farallone,"  she  said, 
"and  the  stronger,  the  more  he  ought  to  mind  his 
manners.  We  are  grateful  to  you  for  all  you  have 
done,  but  if  you  cannot  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your 
head,  then  the  sooner  we  part  company  the  better." 

For  a  full  minute  the  fearless  eyes  snapped  at  Far 
allone,  then,  suddenly  abashed,  softened,  and  turned 
away. 

"There  mustn't  be  any  more  mutiny,"  said  Faral- 
176 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

lone.  "  But  you've  got  sand,  you  have.  I  could  love 
a  woman  like  you.  How  did  you  come  to  hitch  your 
wagon  to  little  Nicodemus  there  ?  He's  no  star.  You 
deserved  a  man.  You've  got  sand,  and  when  your 
poor  feet  go  back  on  you,  as  they  will  in  this  swill 
(here  he  kicked  the  burning  sand),  I'll  carry  you. 
But  if  you  hadn't  spoken  up  so  pert,  I  wouldn't. 
Now  you  walk  ahead  and  pretend  you're  Christopher 
Columbus  De  Soto  Peary  leading  a  flock  of  sheep  to 
the  Fountain  of  Eternal  Youth.  ...  Bear  to  the  left 
of  the  sage-brush,  there's  a  tarantula  under  it.  .  .  ." 

We  went  forward  a  few  steps,  when  suddenly  I 
heard  Farallone's  voice  in  my  ear.  "  Isn't  she  splen 
did?"  he  said,  and  at  the  same  time  he  thumped  me 
so  violently  between  the  shoulders  that  I  stumbled 
and  fell.  For  a  moment  all  fear  of  the  man  left 
me  on  the  wings  of  rage,  and  I  was  for  attacking 
him  with  my  fists.  But  something  in  his  steady  eye 
brought  me  to  my  senses. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?  "  I  meant  to  speak  sharply, 
but  I  think  I  whined. 

"  Because,"  said  Farallone,  "  when  the  woman  spoke 
up  to  me  you  began  to  brindle  and  act  lion-like  and 
bold.  For  a  minute  you  looked  dangerous — for  a 
little  feller.  So  I  patted  your  back,  in  a  friendly  way 
— as  a  kind  of  reminder — a  feeble  reminder." 

We  had  dropped  behind  the  others.  The  groom 
177 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

had  caught  up  with  the  bride,  and  from  his  nervous, 
irritable  gestures  I  gathered  that  the  poor  soul  was 
trying  to  explain  and  to  ingratiate  himself.  But  she 
walked  on,  steadily  averted,  you  might  say,  her  head 
very  high,  her  shoulders  drawn  back.  The  groom, 
his  eyes  intent  upon  her  averted  face,  kept  stumbling 
with  his  feet. 

"Just  look,"  said  Farallone  in  a  friendly  voice. 
"  Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together.  What  did 
the  press  say  of  it?" 

"I  don't  remember,"  I  said. 

"  You  lie,"  said  Farallone.  "  The  press  called  it  an 
ideal  match.  My  God!"  he  cried — and  so  loudly  that 
the  bride  and  the  groom  must  have  heard — "  think  of 
being  a  woman  like  that  and  getting  hitched  to  a  little 
bit  of  a  fuss  with  a  few  fine  feathers";  and  with  a  kind 
of  sing-song  he  began  to  misquote  and  extemporize: 

"  Just  for  a  handful  of  silver  she  left  me, 

Just  for  a  yacht  and  a  mansion  of  stone, 
Just  for  a  little  fool  nest  of  fine  feathers 
She  wed  Nicodemus  and  left  me  alone." 

"  But  she'd  never  seen  me,"  he  went  on,  and  mused 
for  a  moment.  "Having  seen  me — do  you  guess 
what  she's  saying  to  herself?  She's  saying:  'Thank 
God  I'm  not  too  old  to  begin  life  over  again,'  or  think 
ing  it.  Look  at  him!  Even  you  wouldn't  have  been 

178 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

such  a  joke.  I've  a  mind  to  kick  the  life  out  of  him. 
One  little  kick  with  bare  toes.  Life  ?  There's  no  life 
in  him — nothing  but  a  jenny-wren." 

The  groom,  who  must  have  heard  at  least  the  half 
of  Farallone's  speech,  stopped  suddenly  and  waited 
for  us  to  come  up.  His  face  was  red  and  white — 
blotchy  with  rage  and  vindictiveness.  When  we  were 
within  ten  feet  of  him  he  suddenly  drew  a  revolver 
and  fired  it  point-blank  at  Farallone.  He  had  no 
time  for  a  second  shot.  Farallone  caught  his  wrist 
and  shook  it  till  the  revolver  spun  through  the  air 
and  fell  at  a  distance.  Then  Farallone  seated  himself 
and,  drawing  the  groom  across  his  knee,  spanked  him. 
Since  the  beginning  of  the  world  children  have  been 
punished  by  spankings,  and  the  event  is  memorable, 
if  at  all,  as  a  something  rather  comical  and  domestic. 
But  to  see  a  grown  man  spanked  for  the  crime  of  at 
tempted  murder  is  horrible.  Farallone's  fury  got  the 
better  of  him,  and  the  blows  resounded  in  the  desert. 
I  grappled  his  arm,  and  the  recoil  of  it  flung  me  head 
over  heels.  When  Farallone  had  finished,  the  groom 
could  not  stand.  He  rolled  in  the  sands,  moaning 
and  hiding  his  face. 

The  bride  was  white  as  paper;  but  she  had  no  eye 
for  the  groom. 

"Did  he  miss  you?"  she  said. 

"No,"  said  Farallone,  "he  hit  me — Nicodemus  hit 


179 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"Where?"  said  the  bride. 

"In  the  arm." 

Indeed,  the  left  sleeve  of  Farallone's  shirt  was  glit 
tering  with  blood. 

"  I  will  bandage  it  for  you,"  she  said,  "  if  you  will 
tell  me  how." 

Farallone  ripped  open  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt. 

"What  shall  I  bandage  it  with?"  asked  the  bride. 

"Anything,"  said  Farallone. 

The  bride  turned  her  back  on  us,  stooped,  and  we 
heard  a  sound  of  tearing.  When  she  had  bandaged 
Farallone's  wound  (it  was  in  the  flesh  and  the  bullet 
had  been  extracted  by  its  own  impetus)  she  looked  him 
gravely  in  the  face. 

"What's  the  use  of  goading  him?"  she  said  gently. 

"  Look,"  said  Farallone. 

The  groom  was  reaching  for  the  fallen  revolver. 

"Drop  it,"  bellowed  Farallone. 

The  groom's  hand,  which  had  been  on  the  point 
of  grasping  the  revolver's  stock,  jerked  away.  The 
bride  walked  to  the  revolver  and  picked  it  up.  She 
handed  it  to  Farallone. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "that  all  the  power  is  with  you, 
you  will  not  go  on  abusing  it." 

"  You  carry  it,"  said  Farallone,  "and  any  time  you 
think  I  ought  to  be  shot,  why,  you  just  shoot  me.  I 
won't  say  a  word." 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  said  the  bride. 
180 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"I  cross  my  heart/'  said  Farallone. 

"  I  sha'n't  forget,"  said  the  bride.  She  took  the  re 
volver  and  dropped  it  into  the  pocket  of  her  jacket. 

"Vamoose!"  said  Farallone.  And  we  resumed  our 
march. 


Ill 


The  line  between  the  desert  and  the  blossoming  hills 
was  as  distinctly  drawn  as  that  between  a  lake  and 
its  shore.  The  sage-brush,  closer  massed  than  any 
through  which  we  had  yet  passed,  seemed  to  have 
gathered  itself  for  a  serried  assault  upon  the  lovely 
verdure  beyond.  Outposts  of  the  sage-brush,  its  un 
sung  heroes,  perhaps,  showed  here  and  there  among 
ferns  and  wild  roses — leafless,  gaunt,  and  dead;  one 
knotted  specimen  even  had  planted  its  banner  of 
desolation  in  the  shade  of  a  wild  lilac  and  there  died. 
A  twittering  of  birds  gladdened  our  dusty  ears,  and 
from  afar  there  came  a  splashing  of  water.  Our  feet, 
burned  by  the  desert  sands,  torn  by  yucca  and  cac 
tus,  trod  now  upon  a  cool  and  delicious  moss,  above 
which  nodded  the  delicate  blossoms  of  the  shooting- 
star,  swung  at  the  ends  of  strong  and  delicate  stems. 
In  the  shadows  the  chocolate  lilies  and  trilliums  dully 
glinted,  and  flag  flowers  trooped  in  the  sunlight.  The 
resinous  paradisiacal  smell  of  tarweed  and  bay-tree 

181 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

refreshed  us,  and  the  wonder  of  life  was  a  something 
strong  and  tangible  like  bread  and  wine. 

The  wine  of  it  rushed  in  particular  to  Farallone's 
head;  his  brain  became  flooded  with  it;  his  feet  ca 
vorted  upon  the  moss;  his  bellowed  singing  awoke 
the  echoes,  and  the  whole  heavenly  choir  of  the  birds 
answered  him. 

"You,  Nicodemus,"  he  cried  gayly,  "thought  that 
man  was  given  a  nose  to  be  a  tripod  for  his  eye-glasses 
— but  now — oh,  smell — smell!" 

His  great  bulk  under  its  mighty  pack  tripped  lightly, 
dancingly  at  the  bride's  elbow.  Now  his  agile  fingers 
nipped  some  tiny,  scarce  perceivable  flower  to  delight 
her  eye,  and  now  his  great  hand  scooped  up  whole 
sheaves  of  strong-growing  columbine,  and  flung  them 
where  her  feet  must  tread.  He  made  her  see  great 
beauties  and  minute,  and  whatever  had  a  look  of  smell 
ing  sweet  he  crushed  in  his  hands  for  her  to  smell. 

He  was  no  longer  that  limb  of  Satan,  that  sardonic 
bully  of  the  desert  days,  but  a  gay  wood-god  intent 
upon  the  gentle  ways  of  wooing.  At  first  the  bride 
turned  away  her  senses  from  his  offerings  to  eye  and 
nostril;  for  a  time  she  made  shift  to  turn  aside  from 
the  flowers  that  he  cast  for  her  feet  to  tread.  But 
after  a  time,  like  one  in  a  trance,  she  began  to  yield 
up  her  indifference  and  aloofness.  The  magic  of  the 
riotous  spring  began  to  intoxicate  her.  I  saw  her 

182 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

turn  to  the  sailor  and  smile  a  gracious  smile.  And 
after  awhile  she  began  to  talk  with  him. 

We  came  at  length  to  a  bright  stream,  from  whose 
guileless  superabundance  Farallone,  with  a  bent  pin 
and  a  speck  of  red  cloth,  jerked  a  string  of  gaudy 
rainbow-trout.  He  made  a  fire  and  began  to  broil 
them;  the  bride  searched  the  vicinal  woods  for  dried 
branches  to  feed  the  fire.  The  groom  knelt  by  the 
brook  and  washed  the  dust  from  his  face  and  ears, 
snuffing  the  cool  water  into  his  dusty  nose  and  blow 
ing  it  out. 

And  I  lay  in  the  shade  and  wondered  by  what 
courses  the  brook  found  its  way  to  what  sea  or  lake; 
whether  it  touched  in  its  wanderings  only  the  virginal 
wilderness,  or  flowed  at  length  among  the  habitations 
of  men. 

Farallone,  of  a  sudden,  jerked  up  his  head  from  the 
broiling  and  answered  my  unspoken  questions. 

"  A  man,"  he  said,  "  who  followed  this  brook  could 
come  in  a  few  days  to  the  river  Maria  Cleofas,  and  fol 
lowing  that,  to  the  town  of  that  name,  in  a  matter  of 
ten  days  more.  I  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "because 
some  day  some  of  you  may  be  going  that  voyage;  no 
ill-found  voyage  either — spring-water  and  trout  all  the 
way  to  the  river;  and  all  the  rest  of  the  way  river- 
water  and  trout;  and  at  this  season  birds*  eggs  in  the 
reeds  and  a  turtlelike  terrapin,  and  Brodeia  roots  and 

183 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

wild  onion,  and  young  sassafras — a  child  could  do  it. 
Eat  that  .  .  ."  he  tossed  me  with  his  fingers  a  split, 
sputtering,  piping  hot  trout.  .  .  . 

We  spent  the  rest  of  that  day  and  the  night  follow 
ing  by  the  stream.  Farallone  was  in  a  riotous  good- 
humor,  and  the  fear  of  him  grew  less  in  us  until  we 
felt  at  ease  and  could  take  an  unmixed  pleasure  in 
the  loafing. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  was  astir,  and  began  to 
prepare  himself  for  further  marching,  but  for  the  rest 
of  us  he  said  there  would  be  one  day  more  of  rest. 

"Who  knows,"  he  said,  "but  this  is  Sunday?" 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  the  bride  politely. 

"Me?"  said  Farallone,  and  he  laughed.  "I'm 
going  house-hunting — not  for  a  house,  of  course,  but 
for  a  site.  It's  not  so  easy  to  pick  out  just  the  place 
where  you  want  to  spend  the  balance  of  your  days. 
The  neighborhood's  easy,  but  the  exact  spot's  hard." 
He  spoke  now  directly  to  the  bride,  and  as  if  her 
opinion  was  law  to  him.  "There  must  be  sun  and 
shade,  mustn't  there  ?  Spring-water  ? — running  water  ? 
A  hill  handy  to  take  the  view  from?  An  easterly 
slope  to  be  out  of  the  trades  ?  A  big  tree  or  two.  .  .  . 
I'll  find  Jem  all  before  dark.  I'll  be  back  by  dark  or 
at  late  moonrise,  and  you  rest  yourselves,  because  to 
morrow  or  the  next  day  we  go  at  house-raising." 

Had  he  left  us  then  and  there,  I  think  that  we 
184 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

would  have  waited  for  him.  He  had  us,  so  to  speak, 
abjectly  under  his  thumbs.  His  word  had  come  to 
be  our  law,  since  it  was  but  child's  play  for  him  to 
enforce  it.  But  it  so  happened  that  he  now  took  a 
step  which  was  to  call  into  life  and  action  that  last 
vestige  of  manhood  and  independence  that  flickered 
in  the  groom  and  me.  For  suddenly,  and  not  till 
after  a  moment  of  consideration,  he  took  a  step  toward 
the  bride,  caught  her  around  the  waist,  crushed  her 
to  his  breast,  and  kissed  her  on  the  mouth. 

But  she  must  have  bitten  him,  for  the  tender  pas 
sion  changed  in  him  to  an  unmanly  fury. 

"You  damned  cat!"  he  cried;  and  he  struck  her 
heavily  upon  the  face  with  his  open  palm.  Not  once 
only,  but  twice,  three,  four  times,  till  she  fell  at  his 
feet. 

By  that  the  groom  and  I,  poor,  helpless  atoms, 
had  made  shift  to  grapple  with  him.  I  heard  his 
giant  laugh.  I  had  one  glimpse  of  the  groom's  face 
rushing  at  mine — and  then  it  was  as  if  showers  of 
stars  fell  about  me.  What  little  strength  I  had  was 
loosened  from  my  joints,  and  more  than  half-sense 
less  I  fell  full  length  upon  my  back.  Farallone  had 
foiled  our  attack  by  the  simple  method  of  catching 
us  by  the  hair  and  knocking  our  heads  together. 

I  could  hear  his  great  mocking  laugh  resounding 
through  the  forest. 

185 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"  Let  him  go,"  I  heard  the  groom  moan. 

The  bride  laughed.  It  was  a  very  curious  laugh. 
I  could  not  make  it  out.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
anger  in  it,  and  yet  how,  I  wondered,  could  there  be 
anything  else? 


IV 


When  distance  had  blotted  from  our  ears  the  sound 
of  Farallone's  laughter,  and  when  we  had  humbled 
ourselves  to  the  bride  for  allowing  her  to  be  maltreated, 
I  told  the  groom  what  Farallone  had  said  about  a 
man  who  should  follow  the  stream  by  which  we  were 
encamped. 

"  See,"  I  said,  "  we  have  a  whole  day's  start  of  him. 
Even  he  can't  make  that  up.  We  must  go  at  once, 
and  there  mustn't  be  any  letting  up  till  we  get  some 
where." 

The  groom  was  all  for  running  away,  and  the  bride, 
silent  and  white,  acquiesced  with  a  nod.  We  made 
three  light  packs,  and  started — bolted  is  the  better 
word. 

For  a  mile  or  more,  so  thick  was  the  underwood, 
we  walked  in  the  bed  of  the  stream;  now  freely, 
where  it  was  smooth-spread  sand,  and  now  where  it 
narrowed  and  deepened  among  rocks,  scramblingly 
and  with  many  a  splashing  stumble.  The  bride  met 

186 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

her  various  mishaps  with  a  kind  of  silent  disdain; 
she  made  no  complaints,  not  even  comments.  She 
made  me  think  of  a  sleep-walker.  There  was  a  set, 
far-off,  cold  expression  upon  her  usually  gentle  and 
vivacious  face,  and  once  or  twice  it  occurred  to  me 
that  she  went  with  us  unwillingly.  But  when  I  re 
membered  the  humiliation  that  Farallone  had  put 
upon  her  and  the  blows  that  he  had  struck  her,  I  could 
not  well  credit  the  recurrent  doubt  of  her  willingness. 
The  groom,  on  the  other  hand,  recovered  his  long-lost 
spirits  with  immeasurable  rapidity.  He  talked  gayly 
and  bravely,  and  you  would  have  said  that  he  was  a 
man  who  had  never  had  occasion  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself.  He  went  ahead,  the  bride  following  next, 
and  he  kept  giving  a  constant  string  of  advices  and  im 
peratives.  "That  stone's  loose";  "keep  to  the  left, 
there's  a  hole."  "Splash — dash — damn,  look  out  for 
that  one."  Branches  that  hung  low  across  our  course 
he  bent  and  held  back  until  the  bride  had  passed. 
Now  he  turned  and  smiled  in  her  face,  and  now  he 
offered  her  the  helping  hand.  But  she  met  his  cour 
tesies,  and  the  whole  punctilious  fabric  of  his  behavior, 
with  the  utmost  absence  and  nonchalance.  He  had, 
it  seemed,  been  too  long  in  contempt  to  recover  soon 
his  former  position  of  husband  and  beloved.  For  long 
days  she  had  contemplated  his  naked  soul,  limited, 
weak,  incapable.  He  had  shown  a  certain  capacity 

187 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

for  sudden,  explosive  temper,  but  not  for  courage  of 
any  kind,  or  force.  Nor  had  he  played  the  gentle 
man  in  his  helplessness.  Nor  had  I.  We  had  not 
in  us  the  stuff  of  heroes;  at  first  sight  of  instruments 
of  torture  we  were  of  those  who  would  confess  to  any 
thing,  abjure,  swear  falsely,  beg  for  mercy,  change 
our  so-called  religions — anything.  The  bride  had 
learned  to  despise  us  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 
She  despised  us  still.  And  I  would  have  staked  my 
last  dollar,  or,  better,  my  hopes  of  escaping  from 
Farallone,  that  as  man  and  wife  she  and  the  groom 
would  never  live  together  again.  I  felt  terribly  sorry 
for  the  groom.  He  had,  as  had  I,  been  utterly  in 
efficient,  helpless,  babyish,  and  cowardly — yet  the 
odds  against  us  had  seemed  overwhelming.  But 
now  as  we  journeyed  down  the  river,  and  the  distance 
between  us  and  Farallone  grew  more,  I  kept  thinking 
of  men  whom  I  had  known;  men  physically  weaker 
than  the  groom  and  I,  who,  had  Farallone  offered  to 
bully  them,  would  have  fought  him  and  endured 
his  torture  till  they  died.  In  my  immediate  past, 
then,  there  was  nothing  of  which  I  was  not  burningly 
ashamed,  and  in  the  not-too-distant  future  I  hoped 
to  separate  from  the  bride  and  the  groom,  and  never 
see  them  or  hear  of  them  in  this  world  again.  At 
that,  I  had  a  real  affection  for  the  bride,  a  real  admira 
tion.  On  the  yacht,  before  trouble  showed  me  up,  we 

188 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

had  bid  fair  to  become  fast  and  enduring  friends.  But 
that  was  all  over — a  bud,  nipped  by  the  frost  of  con 
duct  and  circumstance,  or  ever  the  fruit  could  so  much 
as  set.  For  many  days  now  I  had  avoided  her  eye; 
I  had  avoided  addressing  her;  I  had  exerted  my  inge 
nuity  to  keep  out  of  her  sight.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  for 
a  man  to  be  thrown  daily  into  the  society  of  a  woman 
who  has  found  him  out,  and  who  despises  him,  mind, 
soul,  marrow,  and  bone. 

The  stream  broke  at  length  from  the  forest  and, 
swelled  by  a  sizable  tributary,  flowed  broad  and  deep 
into  a  rolling,  park-like  landscape.  Grass  spread  over 
the  country's  undulations  and  looked  in  the  distance 
like  well-kept  lawns;  and  at  wide  intervals  splendidly 
grown  live-oaks  lent  an  effect  of  calculated  planting. 
Here  our  flight,  for  our  muscles  were  hardened  to 
walking,  became  easy  and  swift.  I  think  there  were 
hours  when  we  must  have  covered  our  four  miles, 
and  even  on  long,  upward  slopes  we  must  have  made 
better  than  three.  There  is  in  swift  walking,  when  the 
muscles  are  hard,  the  wind  long,  and  the  atmosphere 
exhilarating,  a  buoyant  rhythm  that  more,  perhaps, 
than  merited  success,  or  valorous  conduct,  smoothes 
out  the  creases  in  a  man's  soul.  And  so  quick  is  a 
man  to  recover  from  his  own  baseness,  and  to  ape 
outwardly  his  transient  inner  feelings,  that  I  found 
myself  presently,  walking  with  a  high  head  and  a 
mind  full  of  martial  thoughts. 

189 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

All  that  day,  except  for  a  short  halt  at  noon,  we 
followed  the  river  across  the  great  natural  park;  now 
paralleling  its  convolutions,  and  now  cutting  diago 
nals.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  the  end  of 
the  park  land.  A  more  or  less  precipitous  formation 
of  glistening  quartz  marked  its  boundary,  and  into 
a  fissure  of  this  the  stream,  now  a  small  river,  plunged 
with  accelerated  speed.  The  going  became  difficult. 
The  walls  of  the  fissure  through  which  the  river  rushed 
were  smooth  and  water- worn,  impossible  to  ascend; 
and  between  the  brink  of  the  river  and  the  base  of  the 
walls  were  congestions  of  boulders,  jammed  drift-wood, 
and  tangled  alder  bushes.  There  were  times  when 
we  had  to  crawl  upon  our  hands  and  knees,  under 
one  log  and  over  the  next.  To  add  to  our  difficulties 
darkness  was  swiftly  falling,  and  we  were  glad,  indeed, 
when  the  wall  of  the  fissure  leaned  at  length  so  far 
from  the  perpendicular  that  we  were  able  to  scram 
ble  up  it.  We  found  ourselves  upon  a  levelish  little 
meadow  of  grass.  In  the  centre  of  it  there  grew 
a  monstrous  and  gigantic  live-oak,  between  two  of 
whose  roots  there  glittered  a  spring.  On  all  sides  of 
the  meadow,  except  on  that  toward  the  river,  were 
superimpending  cliffs  of  quartz.  Along  the  base  of 
these  was  a  dense  growth  of  bushes. 

"  We'll  rest  here,"  said  the  groom.  "  What  a  place. 
It's  a  natural  fortress.  Only  one  way  into  it."  He 
stood  looking  down  at  the  noisy  river  and  consider- 

190 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

ing  the  steep  slope  we  had  just  climbed.  "See  this 
boulder?"  he  said.  "It's  wobbly.  If  that  damned 
longshoreman  tries  to  get  us  here,  all  we've  got  to  do 
is  to  choose  the  psychological  moment  and  push  it 
over  on  him." 

The  groom  looked  quite  bellicose  and  daring.  Sud 
denly  he  flung  his  fragment  of  a  cap  high  into  the  air 
and  at  the  very  top  of  his  lungs  cried:  "Liberty!" 

The  echoes  answered  him,  and  the  glorious,  abused 
word  was  tossed  from  cliff  to  cliff,  across  the  river  and 
back,  and  presently  died  away. 

At  that,  from  the  very  branches  of  the  great  oak 
that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  meadow  there  burst  a 
titanic  clap  of  laughter,  and  Farallone,  literally  burst 
ing  with  merriment,  dropped  lightly  into  our  midst. 

I  can  only  speak  for  myself.  I  was  frightened — I 
say  it  deliberately  and  truthfully — almost  into  a  fit. 
And  for  fully  five  minutes  I  could  not  command 
either  of  my  legs.  The  groom,  I  believe,  screamed. 
The  bride  became  whiter  than  paper — then  suddenly 
the  color  rushed  into  her  cheeks,  and  she  laughed. 
She  laughed  until  she  had  to  sit  down,  until  the  tears 
literally  gushed  from  her  eyes.  It  was  not  hysterics 
either — could  it  have  been  amusement  ?  After  a  while, 
and  many  prolonged  gasps  and  relapses,  she  stopped. 

"This,"  said  Farallone,  "is  my  building  site.  Do 
you  like  it?" 

191 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"Oh,  oh,"  said  the  bride,  "I  think  it's  the  m— most 
am — ma — musing  site  I  ever  saw/'  and  she  went  into 
another  uncontrollable  burst  of  laughter. 

"Oh — oh,"  she  said  at  length,  and  her  shining 
eyes  were  turned  from  the  groom  to  me,  and  back 
and  forth  between  us,  "if  you  could  have  seen  your 
faces!" 


It  seemed  strange  to  us,  an  alteration  in  the  logical 
and  natural,  but  neither  the  groom  nor  I  received  cor 
poral  punishment  for  our  attempt  at  escape.  Faral- 
lone  had  read  our  minds  like  an  open  book;  he  had,  as 
it  were,  put  us  up  to  the  escapade  in  order  to  have  the 
pure  joy  of  thwarting  us.  That  we  should  have  been 
drawn  to  his  exact  waiting-place  like  needles  to  the 
magnet  had  a  smack  of  the  supernatural,  but  was  in 
reality  a  simple  and  explicable  happening.  For  if  we 
had  not  ascended  to  the  little  meadow,  Farallone, 
alertly  watching,  would  have  descended  from  it,  and 
surprised  us  at  some  further  point.  That  we  should 
have  caught  no  glimpse  of  his  great  bulk  anywhere 
ahead  of  us  in  the  day-long  stretch  of  open,  park-like 
country  was  also  easily  explained.  For  Farallone  had 
made  the  most  of  the  journey  in  the  stream  itself,  drift 
ing  with  a  log. 

192 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

And  although,  as  I  have  said,  we  were  not  to  receive 
corporal  punishment,  Farallone  visited  his  power  upon 
us  in  other  ways.  He  would  not  at  first  admit  that 
we  had  intended  to  escape,  but  kept  praising  us  for 
having  followed  him  so  loyally  and  devotedly,  for 
saving  him  the  trouble  of  a  return  journey,  and  for 
thinking  to  bring  along  the  bulk  of  our  worldly  pos 
sessions.  Tiring  at  length  of  this,  he  switched  to  the 
opposite  point  of  view.  He  goaded  us  nearly  to  mad 
ness  with  his  criticisms  of  our  inefficiency,  and  he 
mocked  repeatedly  the  groom's  ill-timed  cry  of  Lib 
erty. 

"Liberty!"  he  said,  "you  never  knew,  you  never 
will  know,  what  that  is — you  miserable  little  pin- 
head.  Liberty  is  for  great  natures. 

'Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage/ 

But  the  woman  shall  know  what  liberty  is.  If  she 
had  wanted  to  leave  me  there  was  nothing  to  stop  her. 
Do  you  think  she'd  have  followed  the  river,  leaving  a 
broad  trail?  Do  you  think  she'd  have  walked  right 
into  this  meadow — unless  she  hadn't  cared  ?  Not  she. 
Did  you  ask  her  advice,  you  self-sufficiencies?  Not 
you.  You  were  the  men-folk,  you  thought,  and  you 
were  to  have  the  ordering  of  everything.  You  make 
me  sick,  the  pair  of  you.  .  .  ." 

193 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

He  kept  us  awake  until  far  into  the  night  with 
his  jibes  and  his  laughter. 

"Well,"  he  said  lastly,  "good-night,  girls.  I'm 
about  sick  of  you,  and  in  the  morning  we  part  com 
pany.  .  .  ." 

At  the  break  of  dawn  he  waked  us  from  heavy  sleep 
— me  with  a  cuff,  the  groom  with  a  kick,  the  bride 
with  a  feline  touch  upon  the  hair. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "be  off." 

He  caught  the  bride  by  the  shoulder. 

"Not  you,"  he  said. 

"I  am  to  stay?"  she  asked,  as  if  to  settle  some 
trivial  and  unimportant  point. 

"Do  you  ask?"  said  he;  "Was  man  meant  to  live 
alone  ?  This  will  be  enough  home  for  us."  And  he 
turned  to  the  groom.  "Get,"  he  said  savagely. 

"  Mr.  Farallone,"  said  the  bride — she  was  very  white, 
but  calm,  apparently,  and  collected — "you  have  had 
your  joke.  Let  us  go  now,  or  better,  come  with  us. 
We  will  forget  our  former  differences,  and  you  will 
never  regret  your  future  kindnesses." 

"Don't  you  want  to  stay?"  exclaimed  Farallone 
in  a  tone  of  astonishment. 

"  If  I  did,"  said  the  bride  gently,  "  I  could  not,  and 
I  would  not." 

"What's  to  stop  you?"  asked  Farallone. 

"My  place  is  with  my  husband,"  said  the  bride, 
194 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"whom  I  have  sworn  to  love,  and  to  honor,  and  to 
obey." 

"Woman,"  said  Farallone,  "do  you  love  him,  do 
you  honor  him?" 

She  pondered  a  moment,  then  held  her  head  high. 

"I  do,"  she  said. 

"  God  bless  you,"  cried  the  groom. 

"Rats,"  said  Farallone,  and  he  laughed  bitterly. 
"  But  you'll  get  over  it,"  he  went  on.  "  Let's  have  no 
more  words."  He  turned  to  the  groom  and  to  me. 

"  Will  you  climb  down  the  cliff  or  shall  I  throw  you  ?  " 

"Let  us  all  go,"  said  the  bride,  and  she  caught  at 
his  trembling  arm,  "  and  I  will  bless  you,  and  wish  you 
all  good  things — and  kiss  you  good-by." 

"If  you  go,"  said  Farallone,  and  his  great  voice 
trembled,  "I  die.  You  are  everything.  You  know 
that.  Would  I  have  hit  you  if  I  hadn't  loved  you  so 
— poor  little  cheek!"  His  voice  became  a  kind  of 
mumble. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  the  bride,  "  if  you  love  me." 

" Not  you"  said  Farallone,  " while  I  live.  I  would 
not  be  such  a  fool.  Don't  you  know  that  in  a  little 
while  you'll  be  glad?" 

"Is  that  your  final  word?"  said  the  bride. 

"  It  must  be,"  said  Farallone.  "  Are  you  not  a  gift 
to  me  from  God?" 

"  I  think  you  must  be  mad,"  said  the  bride. 
195 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"  I  am  unalterable,"  said  Farallone,  "  as  God  made 
me — I  am.  And  you  are  mine  to  take." 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  the  bride,  "what  you 
said  when  you  gave  me  the  revolver?  You  said  that 
if  ever  I  thought  it  best  to  shoot  you — you  would  let 
me  do  it." 

"I  remember,"  said  Farallone,  and  he  smiled. 

"That  was  just  talk,  of  course?"  said  the  bride. 

"It  was  not,"  said  Farallone;   "shoot  me." 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  the  bride.     Her  voice  faltered. 

"Not  you,"  said  Farallone,  "while  I  live." 

His  voice,  low  and  gentle,  had  in  it  a  kind  of  far- 
off  sadness.  He  turned  his  eyes  from  the  bride  and 
looked  the  rising  sun  in  the  face.  He  turned  back 
to  her  and  smiled. 

"You  haven't  the  heart  to  shoot  me,"  he  said. 
"My  darling." 

"Let  us  go." 

"Let — you — go!"  He  laughed.  "Send — away — 
my — mate!" 

His  eyes  clouded  and  became  vacant.  He  blinked 
them  rapidly  and  raised  his  hand  to  his  brow.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  in  that  instant,  suddenly  come  and 
suddenly  gone,  I  perceived  a  look  of  insanity  in  his 
face.  The  bride,  too,  perhaps,  saw  something  of  the 
kind,  for  like  a  flash  she  had  the  revolver  out  and 
cocked  it. 

196 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

"Splendid,"  cried  Farallone,  and  his  eyes  blazed 
with  a  tremendous  love  and  admiration.  "This  is 
something  like/'  he  cried.  "Two  forces  face  to  face 
— a  man  and  a  bullet — love  behind  them  both.  Ah, 
you  do  love  me — don't  you?" 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  the  bride.  Her  voice  shook  vio 
lently. 

"Not  you,"  said  Farallone,  "while  I  live." 

He  took  a  step  toward  her,  his  eyes  dancing  and 
smiling.  "Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  if 
you'll  do  it  or  not.  By  my  soul,  I  don't  know.  This 
is  living,  this  is.  This  is  gambling.  I'll  do  nothing 
violent,"  he  said,  "until  my  hands  are  touching  you. 
I'll  move  toward  you  slowly  one  slow  step  at  a  time — 
with  my  arms  open — like  this — you'll  have  plenty  of 
chance  to  shoot  me — we'll  see  if  you'll  do  it." 

"We shall  see,"  said  the  bride. 

They  faced  each  other  motionless.  Then  Farallone, 
his  eyes  glorious  with  excitement  and  passion,  his  arms 
open,  moved  toward  her  one  slow,  deliberate  step. 

"Wait,"  he  cried  suddenly.  "This  is  too  good  for 
them."  He  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  groom  and 
me.  "This  is  a  sight  for  gods — not  jackasses.  Go 
down  to  the  river,"  he  said  to  us.  "  If  you  hear  a  shot 
come  back.  If  you  hear  a  scream — then  as  you  value 
your  miserable  hides — get!" 

We  did  not  move. 

197 


THE  BRIDE'S  DEAD 

The  bride,  her  voice  tense  and  high-pitched,  turned 
to  us. 

"Do  as  you're  told,"  she  cried, "or  I  shall  ask  this 
man  to  throw  you  over  the  cliff."  She  stamped  her 
foot. 

"And  this  man,"  said  Farallone,  "will  do  as  he's 
told." 

There  was  nothing  for  it.  We  left  them  alone  in 
the  meadow  and  descended  the  cliff  to  the  river.  And 
there  we  stood  for  what  seemed  the  ages  of  ages,  lis 
tening  and  trembling. 

A  faint,  far-off  detonation,  followed  swiftly  by  louder 
and  fainter  echoes,  broke  suddenly  upon  the  rushing 
noises  of  the  river.  We  commenced  feverishly  to  scram 
ble  back  up  the  cliff.  Half-way  to  the  top  we  heard 
another  shot,  a  second  later  a  third,  and  after  a  longer 
interval,  as  if  to  put  a  quietus  upon  some  final  show  of 
life — a  fourth. 

A  nebulous  drift  of  smoke  hung  above  the  meadow. 

Farallone  lay  upon  his  face  at  the  bride's  feet.  The 
groom  sprang  to  her  side  and  threw  a  trembling  arm 
about  her. 

"  Come  away,"  he  cried,  "  come  away." 

But  the  bride  freed  herself  gently  from  his  encircling 
arm,  and  her  eyes  still  bent  upon  Farallone 

"Not  till  I  have  buried  my  dead,"  she  said. 


198 


HOLDING  HANDS 


HOLDING  HANDS 

At  first  nobody  knew  him;  then  the  Hotchkisses 
knew  him,  and  then  it  seemed  as  if  everybody  had 
always  known  him.  He  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  gossip 
and  come  through  without  a  scratch.  He  was  first 
noticed  sitting  in  the  warm  corner  made  by  Willcox's 
annex  and  the  covered  passage  that  leads  to  the  main 
building.  Pairs  or  trios  of  people,  bareheaded,  their 
tennis  clothes  (it  was  a  tennis  year)  mostly  covered 
from  view  by  clumsy  coonskin  coats,  passing  Will- 
cox's  in  dilapidated  runabouts  drawn  by  uncurried 
horses,  a  nigger  boy  sitting  in  the  back  of  each,  his 
thin  legs  dangling,  had  glimpses  of  him  through  the 
driveway  gap  in  the  tall  Amor  privet  hedge  that  is 
between  Willcox's  and  the  road.  These  pairs  or  trios 
having  seen  would  break  in  upon  whatever  else  they 
may  have  been  saying  to  make  such  remarks  as :  "  He 
can't  be,  or  he  wouldn't  be  at  Willcox's";  or,  con 
tradictorily:  "He  must  be,  or  he'd  do  something  be 
sides  sit  in  the  sun";  or,  "Don't  they  always  have  to 
drink  lots  of  milk?"  or,  "Anyway,  they're  quite  posi 
tive  that  it's  not  catching";  or,  "Poor  boy,  what  nice 
hair  he's  got." 

201 


HOLDING  HANDS 

With  the  old-timers  the  new-comer,  whose  case  was 
otherwise  so  doubtful,  had  one  thing  in  common:  a 
coonskin  coat.  It  was  handsome  of  its  kind,  unusu 
ally  long,  voluminous,  and  black.  The  upturned  collar 
came  above  his  ears,  and  in  the  opening  his  face  showed 
thin  and  white,  and  his  eyes,  always  intent  upon  the 
book  in  his  lap,  had  a  look  of  being  closed.  Two 
things  distinguished  him  from  other  men:  his  great 
length  of  limb  and  the  color  and  close-cropped,  al 
most  moulded,  effect  of  his  hair.  It  was  the  color  of 
old  Domingo  mahogany,  and  showed  off  the  contour 
of  his  fine  round  head  with  excellent  effect. 

The  suspicion  that  this  interesting  young  man  was 
a  consumptive  was  set  aside  by  Willcox  himself.  He 
told  Mrs.  Bainbridge,  who  asked  (on  account  of 
her  little  children  who,  et  cetera,  et  cetera),  that  Mr. 
Masters  was  recuperating  from  a  very  stubborn  at 
tack  of  typhoid.  But  was  Mr.  Willcox  quite  sure? 
Yes,  Mr.  Willcox  had  to  be  sure  of  just  such  things. 
So  Mrs.  Bainbridge  drove  out  to  Miss  Langrais'  tea 
at  the  golf  club,  and  passed  on  the  glad  tidings  with 
an  addition  of  circumstantial  detail.  Mister  Masters 
(people  found  that  it  was  quite  good  fun  to  say  this, 
with  assorted  intonations)  had  been  sick  for  many 
months  at — she  thought — the  New  York  Hospital. 
Sometimes  his  temperature  had  touched  a  hundred 
and  fifteen  degrees  and  sometimes  he  had  not  had  any 

202 


HOLDING  HANDS 

temperature  at  all.  There  was  quite  a  romance  in 
volved,  "his  trained  nurse,  my  dear,  not  one  of  the 
ordinary  creatures,  but  a  born  lady  in  impoverished 
circumstances,"  et  cetera,  et  cetera.  And  later,  when 
even  Mister  Masters  himself  had  contradicted  these 
brightly  colored  statements,  Mrs.  Bainbridge  continued 
to  believe  them.  Even  among  wealthy  and  idle  women 
she  was  remarkable  for  the  number  of  impossible 
things  she  could  believe  before  breakfast,  and  after. 
But  she  never  made  these  things  seem  even  half  plausi 
ble  to  others,  and  so  she  wasn't  dangerous. 

Mister  Masters  never  remembered  to  have  passed  so 
lonely  and  dreary  a  February.  The  sunny  South  was 
a  medicine  that  had  been  prescribed  and  that  had  to 
be  swallowed.  Aiken  on  the  label  had  looked  invit 
ing  enough,  but  he  found  the  contents  of  the  bottle  dis 
tasteful  in  the  extreme.  "The  South  is  sunny,"  he 
wrote  to  his  mother,  "  but  oh,  my  great  jumping  grand 
mother,  how  seldom!  And  it's  cold,  mummy,  like 
being  beaten  with  whips.  And  it  rains — well,  if  it 
rained  cats  and  dogs  a  fellow  wouldn't  mind.  Maybe 
they'd  speak  to  him,  but  it  rains  solid  cold  water,  and 
it  hits  the  windows  the  way  waves  hit  the  port-holes  at 
sea;  and  the  only  thing  that  stops  the  rain  is  a  wind 
that  comes  all  the  way  from  Alaska  for  the  purpose. 
In  protected  corners  the  sun  has  a  certain  warmth. 
But  the  other  morning  the  waiter  put  my  milk  on  the 

203 


HOLDING  HANDS 

wrong  side  of  my  chair,  in  the  shade,  namely,  and  when 
I  went  to  drink  it  it  was  frozen  solid.  You  were  right 
about  the  people  here  all  being  kind;  they  are  all  the 
same  kind.  I  know  them  all  now — by  sight;  but  not 
by  name,  except,  of  course,  some  who  are  stopping  at 
Willcox's.  We  have  had  three  ice  storms — 'Kennst 
du  das  Land  wo  die  Citronen  bluhenf  I  am  getting 
to  kennst  it  very  well.  But  Willcox,  who  keeps  a  rec 
ord  of  such  things,  says  that  this  is  the  coldest  winter 
Aiken  has  known  since  last  winter! 

"But  in  spite  of  all  this  there  is  a  truth  that  must 
be  spoken.  I  feel  a  thousand  times  better  and  stronger 
than  when  I  came.  And  yesterday,  exercising  in  the 
privacy  of  my  room,  I  discovered  that  there  are  once 
more  calves  upon  my  legs.  This  is  truth,  too.  I  have 
no  one  to  talk  to  but  your  letters.  So  don't  stint  me. 
Stint  me  with  money  if  you  can  (here  I  defy  you),  but 
for  the  love  of  Heaven  keep  me  posted.  If  you  will 
promise  to  write  every  day  I  will  tell  you  the  name  of 
the  prettiest  girl  in  Aiken.  She  goes  by  eight  times 
every  day,  and  she  looks  my  way  out  of  the  corner  of 
her  eye.  And  I  pretend  to  be  reading  and  try  very 
hard  to  look  handsome  and  interesting.  .  .  .  Mother! 
.  .  .  just  now  I  rested  my  hand  on  the  arm  of  my 
chair  and  the  wood  felt  hot  to  the  touch!  It's  high 
noon  and  the  sun's  been  on  it  since  eight  o'clock, 
but  still  it  seems  very  wonderful.  Willcox  says  that 

204 


HOLDING  HANDS 

the  winter  is  practically  over;  but  I  begged  him  not  to 
hurry.  .  .  ." 

Such  was  the  usual  trend  of  his  letters.  But  that 
one  dated  March  7  began  with  the  following  astonish 
ing  statement: 

"I  love  Aiken  .  .  ."  and  went  on  to  explain  why. 

But  Mister  Masters  was  not  allowed  to  love  Aiken 
until  he  had  come  through  the  whole  gauntlet  of  gossip. 
It  had  first  been  suggested  that  he  was  a  consumptive 
and  a  menace  ("though  of  course  one  feels  terribly 
sorry  for  them,  my  dear").  This  had  been  disproved. 
Then  it  was  spread  about  that  he  belonged  to  a  wealthy 
family  of  Masters  from  the  upper  West  Side  ("very 
well  in  their  way,  no  doubt,  and  the  backbone  of  the 
country,  my  dear,  but  one  doesn't  seem  to  get  on  with 
them,  and  I  shouldn't  think  they'd  come  to  Aiken  of  all 
places").  But  a  gentleman  who  knew  the  West  Side 
Masters,  root  and  branch,  shook  his  head  to  this,  and 
went  so  far  as  to  say,  "Not  much,  he  isn't";  and 
went  further  and  shuddered.  Then  it  got  about  that 
Mister  Masters  was  poor  (and  that  made  people  sus 
picious  of  him).  Then  it  got  about  that  he  was  rich 
(and  that  made  them  even  more  so).  Then  that  he 
wrote  for  a  living  (and  that  was  nearly  as  bad  as  to 
say  that  he  cheated  at  cards — or  at  least  it  was  the 
kind  of  thing  that  they  didn't  do).  And  then,  finally, 
the  real  truth  about  him,  or  something  like  it,  got  out; 

205 


HOLDING  HANDS 

and  the  hatchet  of  suspicion  was  buried,  and  there 
was  peace  in  Aiken.  In  that  Aiken  of  whose  peace 
the  judge,  referring  to  a  pock-marked  mulatto  girl, 
had  thundered  that  it  should  not  be  disturbed  for  any 
woman — "no — not  even  were  she  Helen  of  Troy." 

This  was  the  truth  that  got  out  about  Mister  Mas 
ters.  He  was  a  nephew  of  the  late  Bishop  Masters. 
His  mother,  on  whom  he  was  dependent,  was  very 
rich;  she  had  once  been  prominent  in  society.  He  was 
thirty,  and  was  good  at  games.  He  did  not  work  at 
anything. 

So  he  was  something  that  Aiken  could  understand 
and  appreciate:  a  young  man  who  was  well-born, 
who  didn't  have  to  work — and  who  didn't  want  to. 

But  old  Mrs.  Hotchkiss  did  not  know  of  these  things 
when,  one  bright  day  in  passing  Willcox's  (she  was  on 
one  good  foot,  one  rheumatic  foot,  and  a  long  black  cane 
with  a  gold  handle),  she  noticed  the  young  man  pale 
and  rather  sad-looking  in  his  fur  coat  and  steamer-rug, 
his  eyes  on  his  book,  and  stopped  abruptly  and  spoke 
to  him  through  the  gap  in  the  hedge. 

"  I  hope  you'll  forgive  an  old  woman  for  scraping  an 
acquaintance,"  she  piped  in  her  brisk,  cheerful  voice, 
"but  I  want  to  know  if  you're  getting  better,  and  I 
thought  the  best  way  to  find  out  was  to  stop  and  ask." 

Mister  Masters's  steamer-rug  fell  from  about  his 
long  legs  and  his  face  became  rosy,  for  he  was  very  shy. 

206 


HOLDING  HANDS 

"Indeed  I  am,"  he  said,  "ever  so  much.  And 
thank  you  for  asking." 

"I'm  tired,"  said  the  old  lady,  "of  seeing  you  al 
ways  sitting  by  yourself,  dead  tired  of  it.  I  shall  come 
for  you  this  afternoon  at  four  in  my  carriage,  and  take 
you  for  a  drive.  .  .  ." 

"  It  was  abrupt,"  Mister  Masters  wrote  to  his  mother, 
"but  it  was  kind.  When  I  had  done  blushing  and 
scraping  with  my  feet  and  pulling  my  forelock,  we  had 
the  nicest  little  talk.  And  she  remembered  you  in  the 
old  days  at  Lenox,  and  said  why  hadn't  I  told  her  be 
fore.  And  then  she  asked  if  I  liked  Aiken,  and,  see 
ing  how  the  land  lay,  I  lied  and  said  I  loved  it.  And 
she  said  that  that  was  her  nice,  sensible  young  fellow, 
or  words  to  that  effect.  And  then  she  asked  me  why, 
and  I  said  because  it  has  such  a  fine  climate ;  and  then 
she  laughed  in  my  face,  and  said  that  I  was  without 
reverence  for  her  age — not  a  man — a  scalawag. 

"And  do  you  know,  Mrs.  Hotchkiss  is  like  one  of 
those  magic  keys  in  fairy  stories?  All  doors  open  to 
her.  Between  you  and  me  I  have  been  thinking  Aiken 's 
floating  population  snobbish,  purse-proud,  and  gen 
erally  absurd.  And  instead,  the  place  seems  to  exist 
so  that  kindness  and  hospitality  may  not  fail  on  earth. 
Of  course  I'm  not  up  to  genuine  sprees,  such  as  dining 
out  and  sitting  up  till  half-past  ten  or  eleven.  But  I 
can  go  to  luncheons,  and  watch  other  people  play  tennis, 

207 


HOLDING  HANDS 

and  poke  about  gardens  with  old  ladies,  and  guess 
when  particular  flowers  will  be  out,  and  learn  the  names 
of  birds  and  of  hostile  bushes  that  prick  and  of  friendly 
bushes  that  don't. 

"All  the  cold  weather  has  gone  to  glory;  and  it's 
really  spring  because  the  roosters  crow  all  night.  Mrs. 
Hotchkiss  says  it's  because  they  are  roosters  and  im 
moral.  But  I  think  they're  crowing  because  they've 
survived  the  winter.  lam.  ..." 

Aiken  took  a  great  fancy  to  Mister  Masters.  First 
because  Aiken  was  giving  him  a  good  time;  and  sec 
ond  because  he  was  really  good  company  when  you  got 
him  well  cornered  and  his  habitual  fright  had  worn 
off.  He  was  the  shyest,  most  frightened  six-footer  in 
the  memory  of  Aiken.  If  you  spoke  to  him  suddenly 
he  blushed,  and  if  you  prepared  him  by  first  clearing 
your  throat  he  blushed  just  the  same.  And  he  had  a 
crooked,  embarrassed  smile  that  was  a  delight  to  see. 

But  gradually  he  became  almost  at  ease  with  nearly 
everybody;  and  in  the  shyest,  gentlest  way  enjoyed 
himself  hugely.  But  the  prettiest  girl  in  Aiken  had 
very  hard  work  with  him. 

As  a  stag  fights  when  brought  to  bay,  so  Mister  Mas 
ters  when  driven  into  a  corner  could  talk  as  well  and 
as  freely  as  the  next  man;  but  on  his  own  initiative 
there  was,  as  we  Americans  say,  "nothing  doing." 
Whether  or  not  the  prettiest  girl  in  Aiken  ever  rolled 

208 


HOLDING  HANDS 

off  a  log  is  unknown;  but  such  an  act  would  have  been 
no  more  difficult  for  her  than  to  corner  Mister  Masters. 
The  man  courted  cornering,  especially  by  her.  But 
given  the  desired  situation,  neither  could  make  any 
thing  of  it.  Mister  Masters's  tongue  became  forthwith 
as  helpless  as  a  man  tied  hand  and  foot  and  gagged.  He 
had  nothing  with  which  to  pay  for  the  delight  of  being 
cornered  but  his  rosiest,  steadiest  blush  and  his  crook- 
edest  and  most  embarrassed  smile.  But  he  retained 
a  certain  activity  of  mind  and  within  himself  was  posi 
tively  voluble  with  what  he  would  say  if  he  only  could. 

I  don't  mean  that  the  pair  sat  or  stood  or  walked  in 
absolute  silence.  Indeed,  little  Miss  Blythe  could 
never  be  silent  for  a  long  period  nor  permit  it  in  others, 
but  I  mean  that  with  the  lines  and  the  machinery  of 
a  North  Atlantic  liner,  their  craft  of  propinquity  made 
about  as  much  progress  as  a  scow.  Nevertheless, 
though  neither  was  really  aware  of  this,  each  kept  say 
ing  things,  that  cannot  be  put  into  words,  to  the  other; 
otherwise  the  very  first  cornering  of  Mister  Masters  by 
little  Miss  Blythe  must  have  been  the  last.  But  even 
as  it  was  way  back  at  the  beginning  of  things,  and  al 
ways  will  be,  Beauty  spoke  to  Handsome  and  Hand 
some  up  and  spoke  back. 

"No,"  said  little  Miss  Blythe,  upon  being  sharply 
cross-questioned  by  Mrs.  Hotchkiss,  "he  practically 
never  does  say  anything." 

209 


HOLDING  HANDS 

Mrs.  Hotchkiss  dug  a  little  round  hole  in  the  sand 
with  her  long  black  cane,  and  made  an  insulting  face 
at  little  Miss  Blythe. 

"  Some  men,"  said  she,  "  can't  say  'Boo '  to  a  goose." 

If  other  countries  produce  girls  like  little  Miss 
Blythe,  I  have  never  met  a  specimen;  and  I  feel  very 
sure  that  foreign  young  ladies  do  not  become  person 
ages  at  the  age  of  seventeen.  When  she  met  Mister 
Masters  she  had  been  a  personage  for  six  years,  and 
it  was  time  for  her  to  yield  her  high  place  to  another; 
to  marry,  to  bear  children,  and  to  prove  that  all  the 
little  matters  for  which  she  was  celebrated  were  merely 
passing  phases  and  glitterings  of  a  character  which 
fundamentally  was  composed  of  simple  and  noble 
traits. 

Little  Miss  Blythe  had  many  brothers  and  sisters;  no 
money,  as  we  reckon  money;  and  only  such  prospects 
as  she  herself  might  choose  from  innumerable  offers. 
She  was  little;  her  figure  looked  best  in  athletic  clothes 
(low  neck  didn't  do  well  with  her,  because  her  face 
was  tanned  so  brown)  and  she  was  strong  and  quick 
as  a  pony.  All  the  year  round  she  kept  herself  in  the 
pink  of  condition  ("  overkept  herself"  some  said)  danc 
ing,  walking,  running,  swimming,  playing  all  games 
and  eating  to  match.  She  had  a  beautiful,  clean-cut 
face,  not  delicate  and  to  be  hidden  and  coaxed  by  veils 
and  soft  things,  but  a  face  that  looked  beautiful  above 

210 


HOLDING  HANDS 

a  severe  Eton  collar,  and  at  any  distance.  She  had 
the  bright,  wide  eyes  of  a  collected  athlete,  unbeliev 
ably  blue,  and  the  whites  of  them  were  only  matched 
for  whiteness  by  her  teeth  (the  deep  tan  of  her  skin 
heightened  this  effect,  perhaps);  and  it  was  said  by 
one  admirer  that  if  she  were  to  be  in  a  dark  room  and 
were  to  press  the  button  of  a  kodak  and  to  smile  at 
one  and  the  same  instant,  there  would  be  a  picture 
taken. 

She  had  friends  in  almost  every  country-clubbed  city 
in  America.  Whenever,  and  almost  wherever,  a  horse 
show  was  held  she  was  there  to  show  the  horses  of  some 
magnate  or  other  to  the  best  advantage.  Between 
times  she  won  tennis  tournaments  and  swimming 
matches,  or  tried  her  hand  at  hunting  or  polo  (these 
things  in  secret  because  her  father  had  forbidden  them), 
and  the  people  who  continually  pressed  hospitality 
upon  her  said  that  they  were  repaid  a  thousand-fold. 
In  the  first  place,  it  was  a  distinction  to  have  her. 
"Who  are  the  Ebers?"  "Why,  don't  you  know? 
They  are  the  people  Miss  Blythe  is  stopping  with." 

She  was  always  good-natured;  she  never  kept  any 
body  waiting;  and  she  must  have  known  five  thousand 
people  well  enough  to  call  them  by  their  first  names. 
But  what  really  distinguished  her  most  from  other 
young  women  was  that  her  success  in  inspiring  others 
with  admiration  and  affection  was  not  confined  to  men; 

211 


HOLDING  HANDS 

she  had  the  same  effect  upon  all  women,  old  and  young, 
and  all  children. 

Foolish  people  said  that  she  had  no  heart,  merely 
because  no  one  had  as  yet  touched  it.  Wise  people 
said  that  when  she  did  fall  in  love  sparks  would  fly. 
Hitherto  her  friendships  with  men,  whatever  the  men 
in  question  may  have  wished,  had  existed  upon  a  basis 
of  good-natured  banter  and  prowess  in  games.  Men 
were  absolutely  necessary  to  Miss  Ely  the  to  play  games 
with,  because  women  who  could  "give  her  a  game" 
were  rare  as  ivory-billed  woodpeckers.  It  was  even 
thought  by  some,  as  an  instance,  that  little  Miss  Blythe 
could  beat  the  famous  Miss  May  Sutton  once  out  of 
three  times  at  lawn-tennis.  But  Miss  Sutton,  with  the 
good-natured  and  indomitable  aggression  of  her  genius, 
set  this  supposition  at  rest.  Little  Miss  Blythe  could 
not  beat  Miss  Sutton  once  out  of  three  or  three  hun 
dred  times.  But  for  all  that,  little  Miss  Blythe  was  a 
splendid  player  and  a  master  of  strokes  and  strategy. 

Nothing  would  have  astonished  her  world  more  than 
to  learn  that  little  Miss  Blythe  had  a  secret,  darkly 
hidden  quality  of  which  she  was  dreadfully  ashamed. 
At  heart  she  was  nothing  if  not  sentimental  and  ro 
mantic.  And  often  when  she  was  thought  to  be  sleep 
ing  the  dreamless  sleep  of  the  trained  athlete  who  stores 
up  energy  for  the  morrow's  contest,  she  was  sitting  at 
the  windows  in  her  night-gown,  looking  at  the  moon 

212 


HOLDING  HANDS 

(in  hers)  and  weaving  all  sorts  of  absurd  adventures 
about  herself  and  her  particular  fancy  of  the  moment. 

It  would  be  a  surprise  and  pleasure  to  some  men, 
a  tragedy  perhaps  to  others,  if  they  should  learn  that 
little  Miss  Blythe  had  fancied  them  all  at  different 
times,  almost  to  the  boiling  point,  and  that  in  her  own 
deeply  concealed  imagination  Jim  had  rescued  her 
from  pirates  and  Jack  from  a  burning  hotel,  or  that 
just  as  her  family  were  selling  her  to  a  rich  widower, 
John  had  appeared  on  his  favorite  hunter  and  carried 
her  off.  The  truth  is  that  little  Miss  Blythe  had  en 
gaged  in  a  hundred  love  affairs  concerning  which  no 
one  but  herself  was  the  wiser. 

And  at  twenty-three  it  was  high  time  for  her  to  marry 
and  settle  down.  First  because  she  couldn't  go  on 
playing  games  and  showing  horses  forever,  and  second 
because  she  wanted  to.  But  with  whom  she  wanted 
to  marry  and  settle  down  she  could  not  for  the  life 
of  her  have  said.  Sometimes  she  thought  that  it 
would  be  with  Mr.  Blagdon.  He  was  rich  and  he  was 
a  widower;  but  wherever  she  went  he  managed  to  go, 
and  he  had  some  of  the  finest  horses  in  the  world, 
and  he  wouldn't  take  no  for  an  answer.  Sometimes 
she  said  to  the  moon: 

"I'll  give  myself  a  year,  and  if  at  the  end  of  that 
time  I  don't  like  anybody  better  than  Bob,  why  .  .  ." 
Or,  in  a  different  mood,  "I'm  tired  of  everything  I 

213 


HOLDING  HANDS 

do;  if  he  happens  to  ask  me  to-morrow  I'll  say  yes." 
Or,  "I've  ridden  his  horses,  and  broken  his  golf  clubs, 
and  borrowed  his  guns  (and  he  won't  lend  them  to 
anybody  else),  and  I  suppose  I've  got  to  pay  him 
back."  Or,  "I  really  do  like  him  a  lot,"  or  "I  really 
don't  like  him  at  all." 

Then  there  came  into  this  young  woman's  life  Mis 
ter  Masters.  And  he  blushed  his  blush  and  smiled 
his  crooked  smile  and  looked  at  her  when  she  wasn't 
looking  at  him  (and  she  knew  that  he  was  looking)  and 
was  unable  to  say  as  much  as  "  Boo"  to  her;  and  in  the 
hidden  springs  of  her  nature  that  which  she  had  always 
longed  for  happened,  and  became,  and  was.  And  one 
night  she  said  to  the  moon:  "I  know  it  isn't  proper 
for  me  to  be  so  attentive  to  him,  and  I  know  every 
body  is  talking  about  it,  but—"  and  she  rested  her  beau 
tiful  brown  chin  on  her  shapely,  strong,  brown  hands, 
and  a  tear  like  a  diamond  stood  in  each  of  her  unbe 
lievably  blue  eyes,  and  she  looked  at  the  moon,  and 
said:  "But  it's  Harry  Masters  or—bust!" 

Mr.  Bob  Blagdon,  the  rich  widower,  had  been  con 
tent  to  play  a  waiting  game;  for  he  knew  very  well 
that  beneath  her  good-nature  little  Miss  Blythe  had 
a  proud  temper  and  was  to  be  won  rather  by  the  man 
who  should  make  himself  indispensable  to  her  than  by 
him  who  should  be  forever  pestering  her  with  speaking 

214 


HOLDING  HANDS 

and  pleading  his  cause.  She  is  an  honest  girl,  he 
told  himself,  and  without  thinking  of  consequences 
she  is  always  putting  herself  under  obligations  to  me. 
Let  her  ride  down  lover's  lane  with  young  Blank  or 
young  Dash,  she  will  not  be  able  to  forget  that  she 
is  on  my  favorite  mare.  In  his  soul  he  felt  a  cer 
tain  proprietorship  in  little  Miss  Blythe;  but  to  this 
his  ruddy,  dark-mustached  face  and  slow-moving  eyes 
were  a  screen. 

Mr.  Blagdon  had  always  gone  after  what  he  wanted 
in  a  kind  of  slow,  indifferent  way  that  begot  confidence 
in  himself  and  in  the  beholder;  and  (in  the  case  of 
Miss  Blythe)  a  kind  of  panic  in  the  object  sought.  She 
liked  him  because  she  was  used  to  him,  and  because 
he  could  and  would  talk  sense  upon  subjects  which 
interested  her.  But  she  was  afraid  of  him  because 
she  knew  that  he  expected  her  to  marry  him  some  day, 
and  because  she  knew  that  other  people,  including 
her  own  family,  expected  this  of  her.  Sometimes  she 
felt  ready  to  take  unto  herself  all  the  horses  and  coun 
try  places  and  automobiles  and  yachts,  and  in  a  life 
lived  regardless  of  expense  to  bury  and  forget  her  better 
self.  But  more  often,  like  a  fly  caught  in  a  spider's 
web,  she  wished  by  one  desperate  effort  (even  should  it 
cost  her  a  wing,  to  carry  out  the  figure)  to  free  herself 
once  and  forever  from  the  entanglement. 

It  was  pleasant  enough  in  the  web.  The  strands 
215 


HOLDING  HANDS 

were  soft  and  silky;  they  held  rather  by  persuasion 
than  by  force.  And  had  it  not  been  for  the  spider  she 
could  have  lived  out  her  life  in  the  web  without  any 
very  desperate  regrets.  But  it  was  never  quite  possi 
ble  to  forget  the  spider;  and  that  in  his  own  time  he 
would  approach  slowly  and  deliberately,  sure  of  him 
self  and  of  little  Miss  Fly.  .  .  . 

But,  after  all,  the  spider  in  the  case  was  not  such  a 
terrible  fellow.  Just  because  a  man  wants  a  girl  that 
doesn't  want  him,  and  means  to  have  her,  he  hasn't 
necessarily  earned  a  hard  name.  Such  a  man  as 
often  as  not  becomes  one-half  of  a  very  happy  mar 
riage.  And  Mr.  Bob  Blagdon  was  considered  an  ex 
ceptionally  good  fellow.  In  his  heart,  though  I  have 
never  heard  him  say  so  openly,  I  think  he  actually 
looked  down  on  people  who  gambled  and  drank  to 
excess,  and  who  were  uneducated  and  had  acquired 
(whatever  they  may  have  been  born  with)  perfectly 
empty  heads.  I  think  that  he  had  a  sound  and  sensi 
ble  virtue;  one  ear  for  one  side  of  an  argument,  and 
one  for  the  other. 

There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  he  was  a  good  hus 
band  to  his  first  wife,  and  wished  to  replace  her  with 
little  Miss  Blythe,  not  to  supplant  her.  To  his  three 
young  children  he  was  more  of  a  grandfather  than  a 
father;  though  strong-willed  and  even  stubborn,  he 
was  unable  half  the  time  to  say  no  to  them.  And  I 

216 


HOLDING  HANDS 

have  seen  him  going  on  all-fours  with  the  youngest 
child  perched  on  his  back  kicking  him  in  the  ribs  and 
urging  him  to  canter.  So  if  he  intended  by  the  strength 
of  his  will  and  of  his  riches  to  compel  little  Miss  Blythe 
to  marry  (and  to  be  happy  with  him;  he  thought  he 
could  manage  that,  too),  it  is  only  one  blot  on  a  de 
cent  and  upright  character.  And  it  is  unjust  to  have 
called  him  spider. 

But  when  Mister  Masters  entered  (so  timidly  to  the 
eye,  but  really  so  masterfully)  into  little  Miss  Blythe's 
life,  she  could  no  longer  tolerate  the  idea  of  marrying 
Mr.  Blagdon.  All  in  a  twinkle  she  knew  that  horses 
and  yachts  and  great  riches  could  never  make  up  to 
her  for  the  loss  of  a  long,  bashful  youth  with  a  crooked 
smile.  You  can't  be  really  happy  if  you  are  shivering 
with  cold;  you  can't  be  really  happy  if  you  are  drip 
ping  with  heat.  And  she  knew  that  without  Mister 
Masters  she  must  always  be  one  thing  or  the  other — 
too  cold  or  too  hot,  never  quite  comfortable. 

Her  own  mind  was  made  up  from  the  first;  even 
to  going  through  any  number  of  awful  scenes  with 
Blagdon.  But  as  time  passed  and  her  attentions  (I 
shall  have  to  call  it  that)  to  Mister  Masters  made  no 
visible  progress,  there  were  times  when  she  was  obliged 
to  think  that  she  would  never  marry  anybody  at  all. 
But  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  Masters  was  attracted 
by  her,  and  to  this  strand  of  knowledge  she  clung  so 
as  not  to  be  drowned  in  a  sea  of  despair. 

217 


HOLDING  HANDS 

Her  position  was  one  of  extreme  difficulty  and  deli 
cacy.  Sometimes  Mister  Masters  came  near  her  of 
his  own  accord,  and  remained  in  bashful  silence;  but 
more  often  she  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  "acci 
dents  "  in  order  to  bring  about  propinquity.  And  even 
when  propinquity  had  been  established  there  was 
never  any  progress  made  that  could  be  favorably  noted. 
Behind  her  back,  for  instance,  when  she  was  playing 
tennis  and  he  was  looking  on,  he  was  quite  bold  in  his 
admiration  of  her.  And  whereas  most  people's  eyes 
when  they  are  watching  tennis  follow  the  flight  of  the 
ball,  Mister  Masters's  faithful  eyes  never  left  the  per 
son  of  his  favorite  player. 

One  reason  for  his  awful  bashfulness  and  silence 
was  that  certain  people,  who  seemed  to  know,  had  told 
him  in  the  very  beginning  that  it  was  only  a  question 
of  time  before  little  Miss  Blythe  would  become  Mrs. 
Bob  Blagdon.  "She's  always  been  fond  of  him," 
they  said,  "and  of  course  he  can  give  her  everything 
worth  having."  So  when  he  was  with  her  he  felt  as 
if  he  was  with  an  engaged  girl,  and  his  real  feelings  not 
being  proper  to  express  in  any  way  under  such  circum 
stances,  and  his  nature  being  single  and  without  deceit, 
he  was  put  in  a  quandary  that  defied  solution. 

But  what  was  hidden  from  Mister  Masters  was 
presently  obvious  to  Mr.  Blagdon  and  to  others.  So 
the  spider,  sleepily  watching  the  automatic  enmesh- 
ment  of  the  fly,  may  spring  into  alert  and  formidable 

218 


HOLDING  HANDS 

action  at  seeing  a  powerful  beetle  blunder  into  the 
web  and  threaten  by  his  stupid,  aimless  struggles  to 
set  the  fly  at  liberty  and  to  destroy  the  whole  fabric 
spun  with  care  and  toil. 

To  a  man  in  love  there  is  no  redder  danger  signal 
than  a  sight  of  the  object  of  his  affections  standing  or 
sitting  contentedly  with  another  man  and  neither  of 
them  saying  as  much  as  "Boo"  to  the  other.  He  may, 
with  more  equanimity,  regard  and  countenance  a 
genuine  flirtation,  full  of  laughter  and  eye-making. 
The  first  time  Mr.  Blagdon  saw  them  together  he 
thought;  the  second  time  he  felt;  the  third  time  he 
came  forward  graciously  smiling.  The  web  might  be 
in  danger  from  the  beetle;  the  fly  at  the  point  of  kick 
ing  up  her  heels  and  flying  gayly  away;  but  it  may 
be  in  the  power  of  the  spider  to  spin  enough  fresh 
threads  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  to  rebind  the  fly, 
and  even  to  make  prisoner  the  doughty  beetle. 

"Don't  you  ride,  Mister  Masters?"  said  Mr. 
Blagdon. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  shy  one,  blushing.  "But 
I'm  not  to  do  anything  violent  before  June." 

"Sorry,"  said  Mr.  Blagdon,  "because  Fve  a  string 
of  ponies  that  are  eating  their  heads  off.  I'd  be  de 
lighted  to  mount  you." 

But  Mister  Masters  smiled  with  unusual  crooked 
ness  and  stammered  his  thanks  and  his  regrets.  And 
so  that  thread  came  to  nothing. 

219 


HOLDING  HANDS 

The  spider  attempted  three  more  threads;  but  little 
Miss  Blythe  looked  serenely  up. 

"I  never  saw  such  a  fellow  as  you,  Bob,"  said  she, 
"  for  putting  other  people  under  obligations.  When  I 
think  of  the  weight  of  my  personal  ones  I  shudder." 
She  smiled  innocently  and  looked  up  into  his  face. 
"When  people  can't  pay  their  debts  they  have  to  go 
through  bankruptcy,  don't  they  ?  And  then  their  debts 
all  have  to  be  forgiven." 

Mr.  Blagdon  felt  as  if  an  icy  cold  hand  had  been 
suddenly  laid  upon  the  most  sensitive  part  of  his  back; 
but  his  expression  underwent  no  change.  His  slow 
eyes  continued  to  look  into  the  beautiful,  brightly 
colored  face  that  was  turned  up  to  him. 

"Very  honorable  bankrupts,"  said  he  carelessly, 
"  always  pay  what  they  can  on  the  dollar." 

Presently  he  strolled  away,  easy  and  nonchalant; 
but  inwardly  he  carried  a  load  of  dread  and  he  saw 
clearly  that  he  must  learn  where  he  stood  with  little 
Miss  Blythe,  or  not  know  the  feeling  of  easiness  from 
one  day  to  the  next.  Better,  he  thought,  to  be  the 
recipient  of  a  painful  and  undeserved  ultimatum,  than 
to  breakfast,  lunch,  and  dine  with  uncertainty. 

The  next  day,  there  being  some  dozens  of  people 
almost  in  earshot,  Mr.  Blagdon  had  an  opportunity 
to  speak  to  little  Miss  Blythe.  Under  the  circum 
stances,  the  last  thing  she  expected  was  a  declaration; 
they  were  in  full  view  of  everybody;  anybody  might 

220 


HOLDING  HANDS 

stroll  up  and  interrupt.  So  what  Mr.  Blagdon  had 
to  say  came  to  her  with  something  the  effect  of  sudden 
thunder  from  a  clear  sky. 

"Phyllis,"  said  he,  "you  have  been  looking  about 
you  since  you  were  seventeen.  Will  I  do?" 

"Oh,  Bob!"   she  protested. 

"  I  have  tried  to  do,"  said  he,  not  without  a  fine  ring 
of  manliness.  "Have  I  made  good?" 

She  smiled  bravely  and  looked  as  nonchalant  as 
possible;  but  her  heart  was  beating  heavily. 

"  I've  liked  being  good  friends — so  much,"  she  said. 
"Don't  spoil  it." 

"I  tell  her,"  said  he,  "that  in  all  the  world  there 
is  only  the  one  girl — only  the  one.  And  she  says — 
'Don't  spoil  it.'" 

"Bob " 

"I  will  make  you  happy,"  he  said.  .  .  .  "Has  it 
never  entered  your  dear  head  that  some  time  you 
must  give  me  an  answer?" 

She  nodded  her  dear  head,  for  she  was  very  honest. 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  said. 

"Well,"  said  he. 

"In  my  mind,"  she  said,  "I  have  never  been  able 
to  give  you  the  same  answer  twice.  .  .  ." 

"  A  decision  is  expected  from  us,"  said  he.  "  People 
are  growing  tired  of  our  long  backing  and  filling." 

"  People !    Do  they  matter  ?  " 
221 


HOLDING  HANDS 

"They  matter  a  great  deal.     And  you  know  it." 

"Yes.  I  suppose  they  do.  Let  me  off  for  now, 
Bob.  People  are  looking  at  us.  .  .  ." 

"  I  want  an  answer." 

But  she  would  not  be  coerced. 

"You  shall  have  one,  but  not  now.  I'm  not  sure 
what  it  will  be." 

"If  you  can't  be  sure  now,  can  you  ever  be  sure?" 

"Yes.  Give  me  two  weeks.  I  shall  think  about 
nothing  else." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "Two  weeks.  .  .  .  That 
will  be  full  moon.  ...  I  shall  ask  all  Aiken  to  a  picnic 
in  the  woods,  weather  permitting  .  .  .  and — and  if 
your  answer  is  to  be  my  happiness,  why,  you  shall 
come  up  to  me,  and  say,  'Bob — drive  me  home,  will 
you?'" 

"And  if  it's  the  other  answer,  Bob?" 

He  smiled  in  his  usual  bantering  way. 

"  If  it's  the  other,  Phyllis — why — you — you  can  walk 
home." 

She  laughed  joyously,  and  he  laughed,  just  as  if 
nothing  but  what  was  light  and  amusing  was  in  ques 
tion  between  them. 

Along  the  Whiskey  Road  nearly  the  whole  floating 
population  of  Aiken  moved  on  horseback  or  on  wheels. 
Every  fourth  or  fifth  runabout  carried  a  lantern;  but 

222 


HOLDING  HANDS 

the  presence  in  the  long,  wide-gapped  procession  of 
other  vehicles  or  equestrians  was  denoted  only  by  the 
sounds  of  voices.  Half  a  dozen  family  squabbles, 
half  a  dozen  flirtations  (which  would  result  in  family 
squabbles),  and  half  a  dozen  genuine  romances  were 
moving  through  the  sweet-smelling  dark  to  Mr.  Bob 
Blagdon's  picnic  in  Red  Oak  Hollow.  Only  three 
of  the  guests  knew  where  Red  Oak  Hollow  was,  and 
two  of  these  were  sure  that  they  could  only  find  it  by 
daylight;  but  the  third,  a  noted  hunter  and  pigeon 
shot,  rode  at  the  head  of  the  procession,  and  pretended 
(he  was  forty-five  with  the  heart  of  a  child)  that  he  was 
Buffalo  Bill  leading  a  lost  wagon-train  to  water.  And 
though  nobody  could  see  him  for  the  darkness,  he 
played  his  part  with  minute  attention  to  detail,  listen 
ing,  pulling  up  short,  scowling  to  right  and  left,  wet 
ting  a  finger  and  holding  it  up  to  see  from  which  direc 
tion  the  air  was  moving.  He  was  so  intent  upon 
bringing  his  convoy  safely  through  a  hostile  country 
that  the  sounds  of  laughter  or  of  people  in  one  run 
about  calling  gayly  to  people  in  another  were  a  genuine 
annoyance  to  him. 

Mr.  Bob  Blagdon  had  preceded  his  guests  by  half 
an  hour,  and  was  already  at  the  scene  of  the  picnic. 
Fate,  or  perhaps  the  weather  bureau  at  Washington, 
had  favored  him  with  just  the  conditions  he  would 
have  wished  for.  The  night  was  hot  without  heavi- 

223 


HOLDING  HANDS 

ness;  in  the  forenoon  of  that  day  there  had  been  a 
shower,  just  wet  enough  to  keep  the  surfaces  of  roads 
from  rising  in  dust.  It  was  now  clear  and  bestarred, 
and  perhaps  a  shade  less  dark  than  when  he  had 
started.  Furthermore,  it  was  so  still  that  candles 
burned  without  flickering.  He  surveyed  his  prepara 
tions  with  satisfaction.  And  because  he  was  fastidious 
in  entertainment  this  meant  a  great  deal. 

A  table  thirty  feet  long,  and  low  to  the  ground  so 
that  people  sitting  on  rugs  or  cushions  could  eat  from 
it  with  comfort,  stood  beneath  the  giant  red  oak  that 
gave  a  name  to  the  hollow.  The  white  damask  with 
which  it  was  laid  and  the  silver  and  cut  glass  gleamed 
in  the  light  of  dozens  of  candles.  The  flowers  were 
Marshal  Niel  roses  in  a  long  bank  of  molten  gold. 

Except  for  the  lanterns  at  the  serving  tables,  dimly 
to  be  seen  through  a  dense  hedgelike  growth  of  Kalmia 
latifolia,  there  were  no  other  lights  in  the  hollow;  so 
that  the  dinner-table  had  the  effect  of  standing  in  a 
cave;  for  where  the  gleam  of  the  candles  ended,  the 
surrounding  darkness  appeared  solid  like  a  wall. 

It  might  have  been  a  secret  meeting  of  smugglers 
or  pirates,  the  Georgian  silver  on  the  table  represent 
ing  years  of  daring  theft;  it  seemed  as  if  blood  must 
have  been  spilled  for  the  wonderful  glass  and  linen 
and  porcelain.  Even  those  guests  most  hardened  in 
luxury  and  extravagance  looked  twice  at  Mr.  Bob 

224 


HOLDING  HANDS 

Blagdon's  picnic  preparations  before  they  could  find 
words  with  which  to  compliment  him  upon  them; 
and  the  less  experienced  were  beside  themselves  with 
enthusiasm  and  delight.  But  Mr.  Bob  Blagdon  was 
wondering  what  little  Miss  Blythe  would  think  and 
say,  and  he  thought  it  unkind  of  her,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  to  be  the  last  to  arrive.  Unkind,  because 
her  doing  so  was  either  a  good  omen  or  an  evil  one, 
and  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  which. 

The  guests  were  not  homogeneously  dressed.  Some 
of  the  men  were  in  dinner  clothes;  some  were  in  full 
evening  dress;  some  wore  dinner  coats  above  riding 
breeches  and  boots;  some  had  come  bareheaded, 
some  with  hats  which  they  did  not  propose  to  remove. 
Half  the  women  were  in  low  neck  and  short  sleeves; 
one  with  short  curly  hair  was  breeched  and  booted 
like  a  man;  others  wore  what  I  suppose  may  be 
called  theatre  gowns;  and  a  few  who  were  pretty 
enough  to  stand  it  wore  clothes  suited  to  the  hazards 
of  a  picnic  in  the  woods. 

Mr.  Blagdon's  servants  wore  his  racing  colors,  blue 
and  silver,  knee-breeches,  black  silk  stockings,  pumps 
with  silver  buckles,  and  powdered  hair.  They  were 
men  picked  for  their  height,  wooden  faces,  and  well- 
turned  calves.  They  moved  and  behaved  as  if  utterly 
untouched  and  uninterested  in  their  unusual  and  ro 
mantic  surroundings;  they  were  like  jinns  summoned 
for  the  occasion  by  the  rubbing  of  a  magic  lamp. 

225 


HOLDING  HANDS 

At  the  last  moment,  when  to  have  been  any  later 
would  have  been  either  rude  or  accidental,  little  Miss 
Blythe's  voice  was  heard  calling  from  the  darkness 
and  asking  which  of  two  roads  she  should  take.  Half 
a  dozen  men  rushed  off  to  guide  her,  and  presently 
she  came  blinking  into  the  circle  of  light,  followed  by 
Mister  Masters,  who  smiled  his  crookedest  smile  and 
stumbled  on  a  root  so  that  he  was  cruelly  embarrassed. 

Little  Miss  Blythe  blinked  at  the  lights  and  looked 
very  beautiful.  She  was  all  in  white  and  wore  no 
hat.  She  had  a  red  rose  at  her  throat.  She  was  grave 
for  her — and  silent. 

The  truth  was  that  she  had  during  the  last  ten 
minutes  made  up  her  mind  to  ask  Mr.  Bob  Blagdon 
to  drive  her  home  when  the  picnic  should  be  over. 
She  had  asked  Mister  Masters  to  drive  out  with  her; 
and  how  much  that  had  delighted  him  nobody  knew 
(alas!)  except  Mister  Masters  himself.  She  had  dur 
ing  the  last  few  weeks  given  him  every  opportunity 
which  her  somewhat  unconventional  soul  could  sanc 
tion.  In  a  hundred  ways  she  had  showed  him  that 
she  liked  him  immensely;  and  well — if  he  liked  her 
in  the  same  way,  he  would  have  managed  to  show  it, 
in  spite  of  his  shyness.  The  drive  out  had  been  a 
failure.  They  had  gotten  no  further  in  conversation 
than  the  beauty  and  the  sweet  smells  of  the  night. 
And  finally,  but  God  alone  knows  with  what  reluc 
tance,  she  had  given  him  up  as  a  bad  job. 

226 


HOLDING  HANDS 

The  long  table  with  its  dozens  of  candles  looked 
like  a  huge  altar,  and  she  was  Iphigenia  come  to  the 
sacrifice.  She  had  never  heard  of  Iphigenia,  but  that 
doesn't  matter.  At  Mister  Masters,  now  seated  near 
the  other  end  of  the  table,  she  lifted  shy  eyes;  but  he 
was  looking  at  his  plate  and  crumbling  a  piece  of 
bread.  It  was  like  saying  good-by.  She  was  silent 
for  a  moment;  then,  smiling  with  a  kind  of  reckless 
gayety,  she  lifted  her  glass  of  champagne  and  turned 
to  the  host. 

"To  you!"   she  said. 

Delight  swelled  in  the  breast  of  Mr.  Bob  Blagdon. 
He  raised  his  hand,  and  from  a  neighboring  thicket 
there  rose  abruptly  the  music  of  banjos  and  guitars 
and  the  loud,  sweet  singing  of  negroes. 

Aiken  will  always  remember  that  dinner  in  the 
woods  for  its  beauty  and  for  its  gayety.  Two  or  three 
men,  funny  by  gift  and  habit,  were  at  their  very  best; 
and  fortune  adapted  the  wits  of  others  to  the  occasion. 
So  that  the  most  unexpected  persons  became  humor 
ous  for  once  in  their  lives,  and  said  things  worth  re 
membering.  People  gather  together  for  one  of  three 
reasons:  to  make  laws,  to  break  them,  or  to  laugh. 
The  first  sort  of  gathering  is  nearly  always  funny,  and 
if  the  last  isn't,  why  then,  to  be  sure,  it  is  a  failure. 
Mr.  Bob  Blagdon's  picnic  was  an  uproarious  success. 
Now  and  then  somebody's  whole  soul  seemed  to  go 

227 


HOLDING  HANDS 

into  a  laugh,  in  which  others  could  not  help  joining, 
until  uncontrollable  snorts  resounded  in  the  hollow 
and  eyes  became  blinded  with  tears. 

And  then  suddenly,  toward  dessert,  laughter  died 
away  and  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  such  exclama 
tions  as:  "For  Heaven's  sake,  look  at  the  moon!" 
"Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it?" 

Mr.  Blagdon  had  paid  money  to  the  owner  of  Red 
Oak  Hollow  for  permission  to  remove  certain  trees 
and  thickets  that  would  otherwise  have  obstructed 
his  guests'  view  of  the  moonrise.  At  the  end  of  the 
vista  thus  obtained  the  upper  rim  of  the  moon  now  ap 
peared,  as  in  a  frame.  And,  watching  in  silence,  Mr. 
Blagdon's  guests  saw  the  amazing  luminary  emerge, 
as  it  were,  from  the  earth  like  a  bright  and  blameless 
soul  from  the  grave,  and  sail  clear,  presently,  and  up 
ward  into  untroubled  space;  a  glory,  serene,  smiling, 
and  unanswerable. 

No  one  remembered  to  have  seen  the  moon  so  large 
or  so  bright.  Atomized  silver  poured  like  tides  of 
light  into  the  surrounding  woods;  and  at  the  same 
time  heavenly  odors  of  flowers  began  to  move  hither 
and  thither,  to  change  places,  to  return,  and  pass, 
like  disembodied  spirits  engaged  in  some  tranquil  and 
celestial  dance. 

And  it  became  cooler,  so  that  women  called  for 
light  wraps  and  men  tied  sweaters  round  their  necks 

228 


HOLDING  HANDS 

by  the  arms.  Then  at  a  long  distance  from  the 
dinner-table  a  bonfire  began  to  flicker,  and  then  grow 
bright  and  red.  And  it  was  discovered  that  rugs  and 
cushions  had  been  placed  (not  too  near  the  fire)  for 
people  to  sit  on  while  they  drank  their  coffee  and 
liquors,  and  that  there  were  logs  to  lean  against,  and 
boxes  of  cigars  and  cigarettes  where  they  could  most 
easily  be  reached. 

It  was  only  a  question  now  of  how  long  the  guests 
would  care  to  stay.  As  a  gathering  the  picnic  was 
over.  Some  did  not  use  the  rugs  and  cushions  that 
had  been  provided  for  them,  but  strolled  away  into 
the  woods.  A  number  of  slightly  intoxicated  gentle 
men  felt  it  their  duty  to  gather  about  their  host  and 
entertain  him.  Two  married  couples  brought  candles 
from  the  dinner-table  and  began  a  best  two  out  of 
three  at  bridge.  Sometimes  two  men  and  one  woman 
would  sit  together  with  their  backs  against  a  log;  but 
always  after  a  few  minutes  one  of  the  men  would  go 
away  "to  get  something"  and  would  not  return. 

It  was  not  wholly  by  accident  that  Mister  Masters 
found  himself  alone  with  little  Miss  Blythe.  Em 
boldened  by  the  gayety  of  the  dinner,  and  then  by  the 
wonder  of  the  moon,  he  had  had  the  courage  to  hurry 
to  her  side;  and  though  there  his  courage  had  failed 
utterly,  his  action  had  been  such  as  to  deter  others 
from  joining  her.  So,  for  there  was  nothing  else  to 

229 


HOLDING  HANDS 

do,  they  found  a  thick  rug  and  sat  upon  it,  and  leaned 
their  backs  against  a  log. 

Little  Miss  Blythe  had  not  yet  asked  Mr.  Blagdon 
to  drive  her  home.  Though  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  do  so,  it  would  only  be  at  the  last  possible 
moment  of  the  twelfth  hour.  It  was  now  that  eleventh 
hour  in  which  heroines  are  rescued  by  bold  lovers. 
But  Mister  Masters  was  no  bolder  than  a  mouse. 
And  the  moon  sailed  higher  and  higher  in  the  heavens. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful?"  said  little  Miss  Blythe. 

"  Wonderful !" 

"Just  smell  it!" 

"Umm." 

Her  sad,  rather  frightened  eyes  wandered  over  to 
the  noisy  group  of  which  Mr.  Bob  Blagdon  was  the 
grave  and  silent  centre.  He  knew  that  little  Miss 
Blythe  would  keep  her  promise.  He  believed  in  his 
heart  that  her  decision  would  be  favorable  to  him; 
but  he  was  watching  her  where  she  sat  with  Masters 
and  knew  that  his  belief  in  what  she  would  decide 
was  not  strong  enough  to  make  him  altogether 
happy. 

"And  he  was  old  enough  to  be  her  father!"  repeated 
the  gentleman  in  the  Scotch  deer-stalker  who  had 
been  gossiping.  Mr.  Blagdon  smiled,  but  the  words 
hurt— "old  enough  to  be  her  father."  "My  God," 
he  thought,  "7  am  old  enough — just!"  But  then  he 

230 


HOLDING  HANDS 

comforted  himself  with  "Why  not?  It's  how  old  a 
man  feels,  not  how  old  he  is." 

Then  his  eyes  caught  little  Miss  Blythe's,  but  she 
turned  hers  instantly  away. 

"This  will  be  the  end  of  the  season,"  she  said. 

Mister  Masters  assented.  He  wanted  to  tell  her 
how  beautiful  she  looked. 

"Do  you  see  old  Mr.  Black  over  there?"  she  said. 
"  He's  pretending  not  to  watch  us,  but  he's  watching 
us  like  a  lynx.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever  start  a  piece  of 
news?" 

"Never,"  said  Mister  Masters. 

"It  would  be  rather  fun,"  said  little  Miss  Blythe. 
"  For  instance,  if  we  held  hands  for  a  moment  Mr. 
Black  would  see  it,  and  five  minutes  later  everybody 
would  know  about  it." 

Mister  Masters  screwed  his  courage  up  to  the  stick 
ing  point,  and  took  her  hand  in  his.  Both  looked 
toward  Mr.  Black  as  if  inviting  him  to  notice  them. 
Mr.  Black  was  seen  almost  instantly  to  whisper  to  the 
nearest  gentleman. 

"There,"  said  little  Miss  Blythe,  and  was  for  with 
drawing  her  hand.  But  Masters's  fingers  tightened 
upon  it,  and  she  could  feel  the  pulses  beating  in  their 
tips.  She  knew  that  people  were  looking,  but  she 
felt  brazen,  unabashed,  and  happy.  Mister  Masters's 
grip  tightened;  it  said:  "My  master  has  a  dozen 

231 


HOLDING  HANDS 

hearts,  and  they  are  all  beating — for  you."  To  return 
that  pressure  was  not  an  act  of  little  Miss  Blythe's 
will.  She  could  not  help  herself.  Her  hand  said 
to  Masters:  "With  the  heart— with  the  soul."  Then 
she  was  frightened  and  ashamed,  and  had  a  rush  of 
color  to  the  face. 

"  Let  go,"  she  whispered. 

But  Masters  leaned  toward  her,  and  though  he  was 
trembling  with  fear  and  awe  and  wonder,  he  found 
a  certain  courage  and  his  voice  was  wonderfully  gentle 
and  tender,  and  he  smiled  and  he  whispered:  "  Boo!" 

Only  then  did  he  set  her  hand  free.  For  one  reason 
there  was  no  need  now  of  so  slight  a  bondage;  for 
another,  Mr.  Bob  Blagdon  was  approaching  them,  a 
little  pale  but  smiling.  He  held  out  his  hand  to  little 
Miss  Blythe,  and  she  took  it. 

"  Phyllis,"  said  he,  "  I  know  your  face  so  well  that 
there  is  no  need  for  me  to  ask,  and  for  you — to  deny." 
He  smiled  upon  her  gently,  though  it  cost  him  an 
effort.  "I  wanted  her  for  myself,"  he  turned  to  Mas 
ters  with  charming  frankness,  "  but  even  an  old  man's 
selfish  desires  are  not  proof  against  the  eloquence  of 
youth,  and  I  find  a  certain  happiness  in  saying  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart — bless  you,  my  children.  .  .  ." 

The  two  young  people  stood  before  him  with  bowed 
heads. 

232 


HOLDING  HANDS 

"I  am  going  to  send  you  the  silver  and  glass  from 
the  table,  "  said  he,  "  for  a  wedding  present  to  remind 
you  of  my  picnic.  .  .  ."  He  looked  upward  at  the 
moon.  "If  I  could,"  said  he,  "I  would  give  you 
that." 

Then  the  three  stood  in  silence  and  looked  upward 
at  the  moon. 


233 


THE    CLAWS    OF    THE    TIGER 


THE    CLAWS    OF   THE   TIGER 

What  her  given  name  was  in  the  old  country  has 
never  reached  me;  but  when  her  family  had  learned 
a  little  English,  and  had  begun  to  affect  the  man 
ners  and  characteristics  of  their  more  Americanized 
acquaintances,  they  called  her  Daisy.  She  was  the 
only  daughter;  her  age  was  less  than  that  of  two 
brothers,  and  she  was  older  than  three.  The  family 
consisted  of  these  six,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Obloski,  the 
parents,  Grandfather  Pinnievitch,  and  Great-grand 
mother  Brenda — a  woman  so  old,  so  shrunken,  so 
bearded,  and  so  eager  to  live  that  her  like  was  not  to 
be  found  in  the  city. 

Upon  settling  in  America  two  chief  problems  seemed 
to  confront  the  family:  to  make  a  living  and  to  edu 
cate  the  five  boys.  The  first  problem  was  solved  for 
a  time  by  The  Organization.  Obloski  was  told  by  an 
interpreter  that  he  would  be  taken  care  of  if  he  and 
his  father-in-law  voted  as  directed  and  as  often  as  is 
decent  under  a  wise  and  paternal  system  of  govern 
ment.  To  Obloski,  who  had  about  as  much  idea  what 
the  franchise  stands  for  as  The  Organization  had,  this 
seemed  an  agreeable  arrangement.  Work  was  found 

237 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

for  him,  at  a  wage.  He  worked  with  immense  vigor, 
for  the  wage  seemed  good.  Soon,  however,  he  per 
ceived  that  older  Americans  (of  his  own  nationality) 
were  laughing  at  him.  Then  he  did  not  work  so  hard; 
but  the  wage,  froth  of  the  city  treasury,  came  to 
him  just  the  same.  He  ceased  working,  and  pottered. 
Still  he  received  pay.  He  ceased  pottering.  He  joined 
a  saloon.  And  he  became  the  right-hand  man  of  a 
right-hand  man  of  a  right-hand  man  who  was  a  right- 
hand  man  of  a  very  important  man  who  was — left- 
handed. 

The  two  older  boys  were  at  school  in  a  school;  the 
three  others  were  at  school  in  the  street.  Mrs.  Obloski 
was  occupied  with  a  seventh  child,  whose  sex  was  not 
yet  determined.  Grandfather  Pinnievitch  was  learn 
ing  to  smoke  three  cigars  for  five  cents;  and  Great- 
grandmother  Brenda  sat  in  the  sun,  stroking  her  beard 
and  clinging  to  life.  Nose  and  chin  almost  obstructed 
the  direct  passage  to  Mrs.  Brenda 's  mouth.  She 
looked  as  if  she  had  gone  far  in  an  attempt  to  smell  her 
own  chin,  and  would  soon  succeed. 

But  for  Daisy  there  was  neither  school,  nor  play  in 
the  street,  nor  sitting  in  the  sun.  She  cooked,  and  she 
washed  the  dishes,  and  she  did  the  mending,  and  she 
made  the  beds,  and  she  slept  in  one  of  the  beds  with 
her  three  younger  brothers.  In  spite  of  the  great  wage 
so  easily  won  the  Obloskis  were  very  poor,  for  New 

238 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

York.  All  would  be  well  when  the  two  older  boys  had 
finished  school  and  begun  to  vote.  They  were  thirteen 
and  fourteen,  but  the  school  records  had  them  as  fif 
teen  and  sixteen,  for  the  interpreter  had  explained  to 
their  father  that  a  man  cannot  vote  until  he  is  twenty- 
one. 

Daisy  was  twelve,  but  she  had  room  in  her  heart  for 
all  her  family,  and  for  a  doll  besides.  This  was  of 
rags;  and  on  the  way  from  Castle  Garden  to  the  tene 
ment  she  had  found  it,  neglected,  forsaken — starv 
ing,  perhaps — in  a  gutter.  In  its  single  garment,  in 
its  woollen  hair,  and  upon  its  maculate  body  the  doll 
carried,  perhaps,  the  germs  of  typhoid,  of  pneumonia, 
of  tetanus,  and  of  consumption;  but  all  night  it  lay 
in  the  arms  of  its  little  mother,  and  was  not  permitted 
to  harm  her  or  hers. 

The  Obloskis,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Brenda, 
were  a  handsome  family — the  grandfather,  indeed,  was 
an  old  beauty  in  his  way,  with  streaming  white  hair 
and  beard,  and  eyes  that  reminded  you  of  locomo 
tive  headlights  seen  far  off  down  a  dark  tunnel;  but 
their  good  features  were  marred  by  an  expression 
of  hardness,  of  greed,  of  unsatisfied  desire.  And  Mr. 
Obloski's  face  was  beginning  to  bloat  with  drink. 
It  was  only  natural  that  Daisy,  upon  whom  all  the  work 
was  put,  should  have  been  too  busy  to  look  hard  or 
greedy.  She  had  no  time  to  brood  upon  life  or  to 

239 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

think  upon  unattainable  things.  She  had  only  time 
to  cook,  time  to  wash  the  dishes,  to  mend  the  clothes, 
to  make  the  beds,  and  to  play  the  mother  to  her  little 
brothers  and  to  her  doll.  And  so,  and  naturally,  as 
the  skin  upon  her  little  hands  thickened  and  grew 
rough  and  red,  the  expression  in  her  great  eyes  became 
more  and  more  luminous,  translucent,  and  joyous. 

Even  to  a  class  of  people  whose  standards  of  beauty 
differ,  perhaps,  from  ours,  she  promised  to  be  very 
beautiful.  She  was  a  brown-and-crimson  beauty, 
with  ocean-blue  eyes  and  teeth  dazzling  white,  like 
the  snow  on  mountains  when  the  sun  shines.  And 
though  she  was  only  twelve,  her  name,  underlined, 
was  in  the  note-book  of  many  an  ambitious  young  man. 
I  knew  a  young  man  who  was  a  missionary  in  that 
quarter  of  the  city  (indeed,  it  was  through  him  that  this 
story  reached  me),  an  earnest,  Christian,  upstanding, 
and,  I  am  afraid,  futile  young  man,  who,  for  a  while, 
thought  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  talked  of 
having  his  aunt  adopt  her,  sending  her  to  school, 
ladyizing  her.  He  had  a  very  pretty  little  romance 
mapped  out.  She  would  develop  into  an  ornament 
to  any  society,  he  said.  Her  beauty — he  snapped  his 
fingers — had  nothing  to  do  with  his  infatuation.  She 
had  a  soul,  a  great  soul.  This  it  was  that  had  so 
moved  him.  "You  should  see  her,"  he  said,  "with 
her  kid  brother,  and  the  whole  family  shooting-match. 

240 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

I  know;  lots  of  little  girls  have  the  instinct  of  mother 
ing  things — but  it's  more  in  her  case,  it  amounts  to 
genius — and  she's  so  clever,  and  so  quick,  and  in  spite 
of  all  the  wicked  hard  work  they  put  upon  her  she  sings 
a  little,  and  laughs  a  little,  and  mothers  them  all  the 
time — the  selfish  beasts!" 

My  friend's  pipe-dreams  came  to  nothing.  He 
drifted  out  of  missionizing,  through  a  sudden  hobby 
for  chemistry,  into  orchids;  sickened  of  having  them 
turn  black  just  when  they  ought  to  have  bloomed; 
ran  for  Congress  and  was  defeated;  decided  that  the 
country  was  going  to  the  dogs,  went  to  live  in  England, 
and  is  now  spending  his  time  in  a  vigorous  and,  I  am 
afraid,  vain  attempt  to  get  himself  elected  to  a  first- 
class  London  club.  He  is  quite  a  charming  man — 
and  quite  unnecessary.  I  mention  all  this,  being  my 
self  enough  of  a  pipe-dreamer  to  think  that,  if  he  had 
not  been  frightened  out  of  his  ideas  about  Daisy,  life 
might  have  dealt  more  handsomely  with  them  both. 

As  Obloski  became  more  useful  to  the  great  organ 
ization  that  owned  him  he  received  proportionately 
larger  pay;  but  as  he  drank  proportionately  more,  his 
family  remained  in  much  its  usual  straits.  Presently 
Obloski  fell  off  in  utility,  allowing  choice  newly  landed 
men  of  his  nationality  to  miss  the  polls.  Then  strange 
things  happened.  The  great  man  (who  was  left- 
handed)  spoke  an  order  mingled  with  the  awful  names 

241 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

of  gods.  Then  certain  shares,  underwritten  by  his 
right-hand  man,  clamored  for  promised  cash.  A  blue 
pallor  appeared  in  the  cheeks  of  the  right-hand  man, 
and  he  spoke  an  order,  so  that  a  contract  for  leaving 
the  pavement  of  a  certain  city  street  exactly  as  it  was 
went  elsewhere.  The  defrauded  contractor  swore  very 
bitterly,  and  reduced  the  salary  of  his  right-hand  man. 
This  one  caused  a  raid  of  police  to  ascend  into  the 
disorderly  house  of  his.  This  one  in  turn  punished 
his  right-hand  man;  until  finally  the  lowest  of  all  in 
the  scale,  save  only  Mr.  Obloski,  remarked  to  the 
latter,  pressing  for  his  wage,  that  money  was  "heap 
scarce."  And  Mr.  Obloski,  upon  opening  his  en 
velope,  discovered  that  it  contained  but  the  half  of 
that  to  which  he  had  accustomed  his  appetite.  Than 
Obloski  there  was  none  lower.  Therefore,  to  pass  on 
the  shiver  of  pain  that  had  descended  to  him  from  the 
throne,  he  worked  upon  his  feelings  with  raw  whiskey, 
then  went  home  to  his  family  and  broke  its  workings 
to  bits.  Daisy  should  go  sit  in  an  employment  agency 
until  she  was  employed  and  earning  money.  The 
youngest  boy  and  the  next  youngest  should  sell  news 
papers  upon  the  street.  Mrs.  Obloski  should  stop 
mourning  for  the  baby  which  she  had  rolled  into  a 
better  world  three  years  before,  and  do  the  house 
work.  The  better  to  fit  her  for  this,  for  she  was  lazy 
and  not  strong,  he  kicked  her  in  the  ribs  until  she 

242 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

fainted,  and  removed  thereby  any  possibility  of  her 
making  good  the  loss  for  which  her  proneness  to  lux 
urious  rolling  had  been  directly  responsible. 

So  Daisy,  who  was  now  nearly  sixteen,  went  to  sit 
with  other  young  women  in  a  row:  some  were  older 
than  she,  one  or  two  younger;  but  no  one  of  the  others 
was  lovely  to  look  at  or  had  a  joyous  face. 


II 


After  about  an  hour's  waiting  in  an  atmosphere 
of  sour  garments  disguised  by  cheap  perfumery,  em 
ployment  came  to  Daisy  in  the  stout  form  of  a  middle 
aged,  showily  dressed  woman,  decisive  in  speech,  and 
rich,  apparently,  who  desired  a  waitress. 

"  I  want  something  cheap  and  green,"  she  explained 
to  the  manager.  "I  form  'em  then  to  suit  myself." 
Her  eyes,  small,  quick,  and  decided,  flashed  along  the 
row  of  candidates,  and  selected  Daisy  without  so  much 
as  one  glance  at  the  next  girl  beyond.  "  There's  my 
article,  Mrs.  Goldsmith,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Goldsmith  shook  her  head  and  whispered 
something. 

The  wealthy  lady  frowned.  "Seventy-five?"  she 
said.  "That's  ridiculous." 

"  My  Gott! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Goldsmith.  "  Ain't  she 
243 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

fresh?  Loog  at  her.  Ain't  she  a  fresh,  sweet  liddle- 
thing?" 

"  Well,  she  looks  fresh  enough,"  said  the  lady,  "  but 
I  don't  go  on  looks.  But  I'll  soon  find  out  if  what 
you  say  is  true.  And  then  I'll  pay  you  seventy-five. 
Meanwhile" — as  Mrs.  Goldsmith  began  to  protest — 
"  there's  nothing  in  it — nothing  in  it." 

"  But  I  haf  your  bromice — to  pay  up." 

The  lady  bowed  grandly. 

"You  are  sugh  an  old  customer — "  Thus  Mrs. 
Goldsmith  explained  her  weakness  in  yielding. 

Daisy,  carrying  her  few  possessions  in  a  newspaper 
bundle,  walked  lightly  at  the  side  of  her  new  employer. 

"My  name  is  Mrs.  Holt,  Daisy/'  said  the  lady. 
"  And  I  think  we'll  hit  things  off,  if  you  always  try  to 
do  just  what  I  tell  you." 

Daisy  was  in  high  spirits.  It  was  wonderful  to  have 
found  work  so  easily  and  so  soon.  She  was  to  receive 
three  dollars  a  week.  She  could  not  understand  her 
good  fortune.  Again  and  again  Mrs.  Holt's  hard  eyes 
flicked  over  the  joyous,  brightly  colored  young  face. 
Less  often  an  expression  not  altogether  hard  accom 
panied  such  surveys.  For  although  Mrs.  Holt  knew 
that  she  had  found  a  pearl  among  swine,  her  feelings 
of  elation  were  not  altogether  free  from  a  curious  and 
most  unaccustomed  tinge  of  regret. 

"  But  I  must  get  you  a  better  dress  than  that,"  she 
244 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

said.  "  I  want  my  help  to  look  cared  for  and  smart. 
I  don't  mean  you're  not  neat  and  clean  looking; 
but  maybe  youVe  something  newer  and  nicer  in  your 
bundle?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Daisy.  "  I  have  my  Sunday  dress. 
That  is  almost  new." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Holt,  "I'll  have  a  look  at  it. 
This  is  where  I  live." 

She  opened  the  front  door  with  a  latch-key;  and  to 
Daisy  it  seemed  as  if  paradise  had  been  opened — from 
the  carved  walnut  rack,  upon  which  entering  angels 
might  hang  their  hats  and  coats,  to  the  carpet  upon 
the  stair  and  the  curtains  of  purple  plush  that,  slightly 
parted,  disclosed  glimpses  of  an  inner  and  more  sump 
tuous  paradise  upon  the  right — a  grand  crayon  of  Mrs. 
Holt  herself,  life-size,  upon  an  easel  of  bamboo;  chairs 
and  sofas  with  tremendously  stuffed  seats  and  backs 
and  arms,  a  tapes  try- work  fire-screen — a  purple  puppy 
against  a  pink-and-yellow  ground.  *. 

"  I'll  take  you  up  to  your  room  right  off,"  said  Mrs. 
Holt,  "  and  you  can  show  me  your  other  dress,  and  I'll 
tell  you  if  it's  nice  enough." 

So  up  they  went  three  flights.  But  it  was  in  no 
garret  that  Daisy  was  to  sleep.  Mrs.  Holt  conducted 
her  into  a  large,  high-ceilinged,  old-fashioned  room. 
To  be  sure,  it  was  ill  lighted  and  ill  ventilated — giving 
on  a  court;  but  its  furniture,  from  the  marble-topped 

245 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

wash-stand  to  the  great  double  bed,  was  very  grand 
and  overpowering.  Daisy  could  only  gape  with  won 
der  and  delight.  To  call  such  a  room  her  own,  to  earn 
three  dollars  a  week — with  a  golden  promise  of  more 
later  on  if  she  proved  a  good  girl — it  was  all  very  much 
too  wonderful  to  be  true. 

"Now,  Daisy,  let  me  see  your  Sunday  dress — open 
the  bundle  on  the  bed  there." 

Daisy,  obedient  and  swift  (but  blushing,  for  she 
knew  that  her  dress  would  look  very  humble  in  such 
surroundings),  untied  the  string  and  opened  the  parcel. 
But  it  was  not  the  Sunday  dress  that  caught  Mrs. 
Holt's  eye.  She  spoke  in  the  voice  of  one  the  most  of 
whose  breath  has  suddenly  been  snatched  away. 

"And  what,"  she  exclaimed,  "for  mercy  sake,  is 
that?" 

"That,"  said  Daisy,  already  in  an  anguish  lest  it 
be  taken  from  her,  "  is  my  doll." 

Mrs.  Holt  took  the  doll  in  her  hands  and  turned 
it  over  and  back.  She  looked  at  it,  her  head  bent,  for 
quite  a  long  time.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  made  a 
curious  sound  in  the  back  of  her  throat  that  sounded 
like  a  cross  between  a  choke  and  a  sob.  Then  she 
spoke  swiftly — and  like  one  ashamed: 

"You  won't  suit  me,  girlie — I  can  see  that.  Wrap 
up  those  things  again,  and —  No,  you  mustn't 
go  back  to  Goldsmith's — she's  a  bad  woman — you 

246 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

wouldn't  understand.  Can't  you  go  back  home? 
No  ?  .  .  .  They  need  what  you  can  earn.  .  .  .  Here, 
you  go  to  Hauptman's  employment  agency  and  tell 
him  I  sent  you.  No.  .  .  .  You're  too  blazing  inno 
cent.  I'll  go  with  you.  I've  got  some  influence.  I'll 
see  to  it  that  he  gets  a  job  for  you  from  some  one 
who — who'll  let  you  alone." 

"But,"  said  Daisy,  gone  quite  white  with  disap 
pointment,  "  I  would  have  tried  so  hard  to  please  you, 
Mrs.  Holt.  I " 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  saying,  child,"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Holt.  "I — I  don't  need  you.  I've  got 
trouble  here."  She  touched  what  appeared  to  be  an 
ample  bosom.  "One-half's  the  real  thing  and  one- 
half's  just  padding.  I'm  not  long  for  this  world,  and 
you've  cost  me  a  pretty  penny,  my  dear;  but  it's  all 
right.  I  don't  need  you!" 

So  Mrs.  Holt  took  Daisy  to  Hauptman's  agency. 
And  he,  standing  in  fear  of  Mrs.  Holt,  found  employ 
ment  for  her  as  waitress  in  a  Polish  restaurant.  Here 
the  work  was  cruel  and  hard,  and  the  management 
thunderous  and  savage;  but  the  dangers  of  the  place 
were  not  machine  made,  and  Daisy  could  sleep  at 
home. 


247 


.THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 


III 

Daisy  had  not  been  at  work  in  the  restaurant  many 
weeks  before  the  proprietor  perceived  that  business  was 
increasing.  The  four  tables  to  which  Daisy  attended 
were  nearly  always  full,  and  the  other  waitresses  were 
beginning  to  show  symptoms  of  jealousy  and  nerves. 
More  dishes  were  smashed;  more  orders  went  wrong; 
and  Daisy,  a  smooth,  quick,  eager  worker,  was  fre 
quently  delayed  and  thrown  out  of  .her  stride,  so 
to  speak,  by  malicious  stratagems  and  tricks.  But 
Linnevitch,  the  proprietor,  had  a  clear  mind  and  an 
excellent  knowledge  of  human  nature.  He  got  rid  of 
his  cash-girl,  and  put  Daisy  in  her  place;  and  this  in 
face  of  the  fact  that  Daisy  had  had  the  scantiest  prac 
tice  with  figures  and  was  at  first  dismally  slow  in  the 
making  of  change.  But  Linnevitch  bore  with  her, 
and  encouraged  her.  If  now  and  then  she  made  too 
much  change,  he  forgave  her.  He  had  only  to  look  at 
the  full  tables  to  forget.  For  every  nickel  that  she 
lost  for  him,  she  brought  a  new  customer.  And  soon, 
too,  she  became  at  ease  with  money,  and  sure  of 
her  subtraction.  Linnevitch  advanced  her  sufficient 
funds  to  buy  a  neat  black  dress;  he  insisted  that  she 
wear  a  white  turnover  collar  and  white  cuffs.  The 
plain  severity  of  this  costume  set  off  the  bright  color- 

248 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

ing  of  her  face  and  hair  to  wonderful  advantage.  In 
the  dingy,  ill-lighted  restaurant  she  was  like  that  serene, 
golden,  glowing  light  that  Rembrandt  alone  has  known 
how  to  place  among  shadows.  And  her  temper  was 
so  sweet,  and  her  disposition  so  childlike  and  gentle, 
that  one  by  one  the  waitresses  who  hated  her  for  her 
popularity  and  her  quick  success  forgave  her  and  began 
to  like  her.  They  discussed  her  a  great  deal  among 
themselves,  and  wondered  what  would  become  of  her. 
Something  good,  they  prophesied;  for  under  all  the 
guilelessness  and  simplicity  she  was  able.  And  you 
had  to  look  but  once  into  those  eyes  to  know  that  she 
was  string-straight.  Among  the  waitresses  was  no 
very  potent  or  instructed  imagination.  They  could 
not  formulate  the  steps  upon  which  Daisy  should  rise, 
nor  name  the  happy  height  to  which  she  should  ascend. 
They  knew  that  she  was  exceptional;  no  common 
pottery  like  themselves,  but  of  that  fine  clay  of  which 
even  porcelain  is  made.  It  was  common  talk  among 
them  that  Linnevitch  was  in  love  with  her;  and,  recall 
ing  what  had  been  the  event  in  the  case  of  the  Barn- 
helm  girl,  and  of  Lotta  Gorski,  they  knew  that  Linne 
vitch  sometimes  put  pleasure  ahead  of  business.  Yet 
it  was  their  common  belief  that  the  more  he  pined  after 
Daisy  the  less  she  had  to  fear  from  him. 

A  new  look  had  come  into  the  man's  protruding  eyes. 
Either  prosperity  or  Daisy,  or  both,  had  changed  him 

249 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

for  the  better.  The  place  no  longer  echoed  with  thun 
derous  assaults  upon  slight  faults.  The  words,  "If 
you  will,  please,  Helena";  "Well,  well,  pick  it  up," 
fell  now  from  his  lips,  or  the  even  more  reassuring  and 
courteous,  "Never  mind;  I  say,  never  mind." 

Mean  while,  if  her  position  and  work  in  the  restaurant 
were  pleasant  enough,  Daisy's  evenings  and  nights  at 
home  were  hard  to  bear.  Her  mother,  sick,  bitter, 
and  made  to  work  against  her  will,  had  no  tolerant 
words  for  her.  Grandfather  Pinnievitch,  deprived  of 
even  pipe  tobacco  by  his  bibulous  son-in-law,  whined 
and  complained  by  the  hour.  Old  Mrs.  Brenda  de 
clared  that  she  was  being  starved  to  death,  and  she 
reviled  whomever  came  near  her.  The  oldest  boy  had 
left  school  in  disgrace,  together  with  a  classmate  of  the 
opposite  sex,  whom  he  abandoned  shortly  at  a  profit. 
The  family  had  turned  him  off  at  first;  had  then  seen 
that  he  had  in  spite  of  this  an  air  of  prosperity;  in 
vited  him  to  live  at  home  once  more,  and  were  told  that 
he  was  done  with  them.  His  first  venture  in  the  busi 
ness  of  pandering  had  been  a  success;  a  company, 
always  on  the  lookout  for  bright  young  men,  offered 
him  good  pay,  work  intricate  but  interesting,  and  that 
protection  without  which  crime  would  not  be  profitable. 

Yes,  in  the  secure  shadow  of  The  Organization's 
secret  dark  wings,  there  was  room  even  for  this  ob 
scure  young  Pole,  fatherless,  now,  and  motherless. 

250 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

For  The  Organization  stands  at  the  gates  of  the  young 
Republic  to  welcome  in  the  unfortunate  of  all  nations, 
to  find  work  for  them,  and  security.  Let  your  bent 
be  what  it  will,  if  only  you  will  serve  the  master,  young 
immigrant,  you  may  safely  follow  that  bent  to  the  utter 
most  dregs  in  which  it  ends.  Whatever  you  wish  to 
be,  that  you  may  become,  provided  only  that  your 
ambition  is  sordid,  criminal,  and  unchaste. 

Mr.  Obloski  was  now  an  incorrigible  drunkard. 
He  could  no  longer  be  relied  on  to  cast  even  his 
own  vote  once,  should  the  occasion  for  voting  arise. 
So  The  Great  Organization  spat  Obloski  aside.  He 
threatened  certain  reprisals  and  tale-bearings.  He  was 
promptly  arrested  for  a  theft  which  not  only  he  had  not 
committed,  but  which  had  never  been  committed  at 
all.  The  Organization  spared  itself  the  expense  of 
actually  putting  him  in  jail;  but  he  had  felt  the  power 
of  the  claws.  He  would  threaten  no  more.  >  | 

To  support  the  family  on  Daisy's  earnings  and  the 
younger  boys'  newspaper  sellings,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  keep  drunk  from  morning  to  night,  taxed  his  talents 
to  the  utmost.  There  were  times  when  he  had  to  give 
blows  instead  of  bread.  But  he  did  his  best,  and  was 
as  patient  and  long-suffering  as  possible  with  those 
who  sapped  his  income  and  kept  him  down. 

One  night,  in  a  peculiarly  speculative  mood,  he 
addressed  his  business  instincts  to  Daisy.  "  Fourteen 

251 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

dollars  a  month!"  he  said.  "And  there  are  girls 
without  half  your  looks — right  here  in  this  city — that 
earn  as  much  in  a  night.  What  good  are  you  ?  " 

I  cannot  say  that  Daisy  was  so  innocent  as  not  to 
gather  his  meaning.  She  sat  and  looked  at  him,  a 
terrible  pathos  in  her  great  eyes,  and  said  nothing. 

"Well,"  said  her  father,  "what  good  are  you?" 

"  No  good,"  said  Daisy  gently. 

That  night  she  hugged  her  old  doll  to  her  breast  and 
wept  bitterly,  but  very  quietly,  so  as  not  to  waken  her 
brothers.  The  next  morning,  very  early,  she  made  a 
parcel  of  her  belongings,  and  carried  it  with  her  to  the 
restaurant.  The  glass  door  with  its  dingy  gilt  letter 
ing  was  being  unlocked  for  the  day  by  Mr.  Linnevitch. 
He  was  surprised  to  see  her  a  full  half-hour  before 
opening  time. 

"  Mr.  Linnevitch,"  said  Daisy,  "  things  are  so  that  I 
can't  stay  at  home  any  more.  I  will  send  them  the 
money,  but  I  have  to  find  another  place  to  live." 

"We  got  a  little  room,"  he  said;  "you  can  have  if 
Mrs.  Linnevitch  says  so.  I  was  going  to  give  you 
more  pay.  We  give  you  that  room  instead — eh?" 

Mrs.  Linnevitch  gave  her  consent.  She  was  a 
dreary,  weary  woman  of  American  birth.  When  she 
was  alone  with  her  husband  she  never  upbraided  him 
for  his  infidelities,  or  referred  to  them.  But  later,  on 
this  particular  day,  having  a  chance  to  speak,  she  said: 

252 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

"I  hope  you  ain't  going  to  bother  this  one,  Linne?" 

He  patted  his  wife's  bony  back  and  shook  his  head. 
"The  better  as  I  know  that  girl,  Minnie,"  he  said, 
"  the  sorrier  I  am  for  what  I  used  to  be  doing  some 
times.  You  and  her  is  going  to  have  a  square  deal." 

"  I  bin  up  to  put  her  room  straight/'  said  Mrs.  Lin- 
nevitch.  "She's  got  a  doll." 

She  delivered  this  for  what  it  was  worth,  in  an  un 
interested,  emotionless  voice. 

"I  tell  you  what  she  ought  to  have  got,"  said  her 
husband.  "She  ought  to  have  got  now  a  good  hus 
band,  and  some  live  dolls — eh?" 


IV 


New  customers  were  not  uncommon  in  the  restau 
rant,  but  the  young  man  who  dropped  in  for  noon  din 
ner  upon  the  following  Friday  was  of  a  plumage  gayer 
than  any  to  which  the  waitresses  and  habitue's  of  the 
place  were  accustomed.  To  Daisy,  sitting  at  her  high 
cashier's  desk,  like  a  young  queen  enthroned,  he  seemed 
to  have  something  of  the  nature  of  a  prince  from  a  far 
country.  She  watched  him  eat.  She  saw  in  his  cuffs 
the  glint  of  gold;  she  noted  with  what  elegance  he  held 
his  little  fingers  aloof  from  his  hands.  She  noted  the 
polish  and  cleanliness  of  his  nails,  the  shortness  of  his 
recent  hair-cut,  the  great  breadth  of  his  shoulders 

253 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

(they  were  his  coat's  shoulders,  but  she  did  not  know 
this),  the  narrowness  of  his  waist,  the  interesting  pallor 
of  his  face. 

Not  until  the  restaurant  was  well  filled  did  any  one 
have  the  audacity  to  sit  at  the  stranger's  table.  His 
elegance  and  refinement  were  as  a  barrier  between  him 
and  all  that  was  rude  and  coarse.  If  he  glanced  about 
the  place,  taking  notes  in  his  turn  of  this  and  that,  it 
was  covertly  and  quietly  and  without  offence.  His 
eyes  passed  across  Daisy's  without  resting  or  any  show 
of  interest.  Once  or  twice  he  spoke  quietly  to  the  girl 
who  waited  on  him,  his  eyebrows  slightly  raised,  as  if 
he  were  finding  fault  but  without  anger.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  Daisy  had  a  sensation  of  jealousy; 
but  in  the  pale  nostalgic  form,  rather  than  the  yellow 
corrosive. 

Though  the  interesting  stranger  had  been  one  of  the 
earliest  arrivals,  he  ate  slowly,  busied  himself  with 
important-looking  papers  out  of  his  coat-pockets,  and 
was  the  last  to  go.  He  paid  his  bill,  and  if  he  looked  at 
Daisy  while  she  made  change  it  was  in  an  absent- 
minded,  uninterested  way. 

She  had  an  access  of  boldness.  "  I  hope  you  liked 
your  dinner,"  she  said. 

"I?"  The  young  man  came  out  of  the  clouds. 
"Oh,  yes.  Very  nice."  He  thanked  her  as  courte 
ously  for  his  change  as  if  his  receiving  any  at  all  was 

254 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

purely  a  matter  for  her  discretion  to  decide,  wished  her 
good  afternoon,  and  went  out. 

The  waitresses  were  gathered  about  the  one  who 
had  served  the  stranger.  It  seemed  that  he  had  made 
her  a  present  of  a  dime.  It  was  vaguely  known  that 
up-town,  in  more  favored  restaurants,  a  system  of 
tipping  prevailed;  but  in  Linnevitch's  this  was  the 
first  instance  in  a  long  history.  The  stranger's  stock, 
as  they  say,  went  up  by  leaps  and  bounds.  Then, 
on  removing  the  cloth  from  the  table  at  which  he  had 
dined,  there  was  discovered  a  heart-shaped  locket  that 
resembled  gold.  The  girls  were  for  opening  it,  and 
at  least  one  ill-kept  thumb-nail  was  painfully  broken 
over  backward  in  the  attempt.  Daisy  joined  the 
group.  She  was  authoritative  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life. 

"  He  wouldn't  like  us  to  open  it,"  she  said. 

A  dispute  arose,  presently  a  clamor;  Linnevitch 
came  in.  There  was  a  silence. 

Linnevitch  examined  the  locket.  "  Trible-plate," 
he  said  judicially.  "Maybe  there's  a  name  and  ad 
dress  inside."  As  the  locket  opened  for  his  strong 
thumb-nail,  Daisy  gave  out  a  little  sound  as  of  pain. 
Linnevitch  stood  looking  into  the  locket,  smiling. 

"Only  hair,"  he  said  presently,  and  closed  the 
thing  with  a  snap.  "Put  that  in  the  cash-drawer," 
he  said,  "  until  it  is  called  for." 

255 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

Daisy  turned  the  key  on  the  locket  and  wondered 
what  color  the  hair  was.  The  stranger,  of  course,  had 
a  sweetheart,  and  of  course  the  hair  was  hers.  Was  it 
brown,  chestnut,  red,  blond,  black  ?  Beneath  each  of 
these  colors  in  turn  she  imagined  a  face. 

Long  before  the  first  habitue's  had  arrived  for  sup 
per  Daisy  was  at  her  place.  All  the  afternoon  her 
imagination  had  been  so  fed,  and  her  curiosity  thereby 
so  aroused,  that  she  was  prepared,  in  the  face  of  what 
she  knew  at  heart  was  proper,  to  open  the  locket  and 
see,  at  least,  the  color  of  the  magic  hair.  But  she  still 
hesitated,  and  for  a  long  time.  Finally,  however, 
overmastered,  she  drew  out  the  cash-drawer  a  little  way 
and  managed,  without  taking  it  out,  to  open  the  locket. 
The  lock  of  hair  which  it  contained  was  white  as  snow. 

Daisy  rested,  chin  on  hands,  looking  into  space. 
She  had  almost  always  been  happy  in  a  negative  way, 
or,  better,  contented.  Now  she  was  positively  happy. 
But  she  could  not  have  explained  why.  She  had 
closed  the  locket  gently  and  tenderly,  revering  the  white 
hairs  and  the  filial  piety  that  had  enshrined  them  in 
gold  ("triple-plated  gold,  at  that!").  And  when 
presently  the  stranger  entered  to  recover  his  property, 
Daisy  felt  as  if  she  had  always  known  him,  and  that 
there  was  nothing  to  know  of  him  but  good. 

He  was  greatly  and  gravely  concerned  for  his  loss, 
but  when  Daisy,  without  speaking,  opened  the  cash- 

256 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

drawer  and  handed  him  his  property,  he  gave  her  a 
brilliant  smile  of  gratitude. 

"One  of  the  girls  found  it  under  your  table,"  she 
said. 

"Is  she  here  now? "  he  asked.  "But  never  mind; 
you'll  thank  her  for  me,  won't  you?  And — "  A 
hand  that  seemed  wonderfully  ready  for  financial 
emergencies  slipped  into  a  trousers  pocket  and  pulled 
from  a  great  roll  of  various  denominations  a  dollar 
bill.  "  Thank  her  and  give  her  that,"  he  said.  Then, 
and  thus  belittling  the  transaction,  "I  have  to  be  in 
this  part  of  the  city  quite  often  on  business,"  he  said, 
"and  I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  like  to  take  my  meals 
among  honest  people.  You  can  tell  the  boss  that  I 
intend  to  patronize  this  place." 

He  turned  to  go,  but  the  fact  that  she  had  been  in 
cluded  as  being  one  of  honest  people  troubled  Daisy. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  said.  He  turned  back.  "  It  was 
wrong  for  me  to  do  it,"  she  said,  blushing  deeply,  and 
looking  him  full  in  the  face  with  her  great,  honest  eyes. 
"I  opened  your  locket.  And  looked  in." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  said  the  young  man.  He  did  not  seem 
to  mind  in  the  least.  "  I  do,  often.  That  lock  of  hair," 
he  said,  rather  solemn  now,  and  a  little  sad,  perhaps, 
"was  my  mother's." 

He  now  allowed  his  eyes  to  rest  on  Daisy's  beauti 
ful  face  for,  perhaps,  the  first  time. 

257 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

"  In  a  city  like  this,"  he  said,  "  there's  always  temp 
tations  to  do  wrong,  but  I  think  having  this"  (he 
touched  his  breast  pocket  where  the  locket  was)  "  helps 
me  to  do  what  mother  would  have  liked  me  to." 

He  brushed  the  corner  of  one  eye  with  the  back  of 
his  hand.  Perhaps  there  was  a  tear  in  it.  Perhaps 
a  cinder. 


It  came  to  be  known  in  the  restaurant  that  the 
stranger's  name  was  Barstow,  and  very  soon  he  had 
ceased  to  be  a  stranger.  His  business  in  that  quarter 
of  the  city,  whatever  it  may  have  been,  was  at  first  in 
termittent;  he  would  take,  perhaps,  three  meals  in  a 
week  at  Linnevitch's;  latterly  he  often  came  twice  in 
one  day.  Always  orderly  and  quiet,  Barstow  grad 
ually,  however,  established  pleasant  and  even  joking 
terms  with  the  waitresses.  But  with  Daisy  he  never 
joked.  He  called  the  other  girls  by  their  first  names, 
as  became  a  social  superior,  but  Daisy  was  always 
Miss  Obloski  to  him.  With  Linnevitch  alone  he  made 
no  headway.  Linnevitch  maintained  a  pointedly  surly 
and  repellent  attitude,  as  if  he  really  wished  to  turn 
away  a  profitable  patronage.  And  Barstow  learned 
to  leave  the  proprietor  severely  alone. 

One  night,  after  Barstow  had  received  his  change, 
258 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

he  remained  for  a  few  minutes  talking  with  Daisy. 
"What  do  you  find  to  do  with  yourself  evenings, 
Miss  Obloski?"  he  asked. 

"  I  generally  sit  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linnevitch  and 
sew,"  she  answered. 

"That's  not  a  very  exciting  life  for  a  young  lady. 
Don't  you  ever  take  in  a  show,  or  go  to  a  dance  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Don't  you  like  to  dance?" 

"  I  know  I'd  like  it,"  she  said  with  enthusiasm;  "  but 
I  never  had  a  chance  to  try." 

"You  haven't!"  exclaimed  Barstow.  "What  a 
shame!  Some  night,  if  you  like,  I'll  take  you  to  an 
academy — a  nice  quiet  one,  mostly  for  beginners — 
where  they  give  lessons.  If  you'd  like,  I'll  teach  you 
myself." 

Delight  showed  in  Daisy's  face. 

"Good!"  said  Barstow.  "It's  a  go.  How  about 
to-n — "  He  broke  off  short.  Linnevitch,  very  surly 
and  very  big,  was  within  hearing,  although  his  atten 
tion  appeared  elsewhere. 

"Some  time  soon,  then,"  said  Barstow  in  a  lower 
voice,  and  aloud,  "Well,  good-night,  Miss  Obloski." 

Her  eyes  were  upon  the  glass  door  and  the  darkness 
beyond  into  which  Barstow  had  disappeared.  She 
was  returned  to  earth  by  Linnevitch's  voice  close  to 
her  ear.  It  was  gentle  and  understanding. 

"You  like  dot  feller— eh?" 
259 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

Daisy  blushed  very  crimson,  but  her  great  eyes  were 
steadfast  and  without  guile.  "  I  like  him  very  much, 
Mr.  Linnevitch." 

"Not  too  much— eh?" 

Daisy  did  not  answer.  She  did  not  know  the 
answer. 

"Liddle  girl,"  said  Linnevitch  kindly,  "you  don't 
know  noddings.  What  was  he  saying  to  you,  just 
now?" 

"  He  said  some  evening  he'd  take  me  to  an  academy 
and  learn  me  dancing,"  said  Daisy. 

"He  said  dot,  did  he?"  said  Linnevitch.  "I  say 
don't  have  nodding  to  do  with  them  academies.  You 
ask  Mrs.  Linnevitch  to  tell  you  some  stories — eh?" 

"But  he  didn't  mean  a  regular  dance-hall,"  said 
Daisy.  "He  said  a  place  for  beginners." 

"For  beginners!"  said  Linnevitch  with  infinite  sar 
casm.  And  then  with  a  really  tender  paternalism, 
"  If  I  am  your  father,  I  beat  you  sometimes  for  a  liddle 
fool— eh?" 

Mrs.  Linnevitch  was  more  explicit.  "I've  knowed 
hundreds  of  girls  that  was  taught  to  dance,"  she  said. 
"  First  they  go  to  the  hall,  and  then  they  go  to  hell." 

Daisy  defended  her  favorite  character.  "  Any  man," 
she  said,  "that  carries  a  lock  of  his  mother's  white 
hair  with  him  to  help  keep  him  straight  is  good  enough 
for  me,  I  guess." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  not  hair  of  some  old  man's 
260 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

beard  to  fool  you  ?  Or  some  goat — eh  ?  How  do  you 
know  it  make  him  keep  straight — eh?" 

Linnevitch  began  to  mimic  the  quiet  voice  and 
elegant  manner  of  Barstow:  "Good-morning,  Miss 
Obloski,  I  have  just  given  one  dollar  to  a  poor  cribble. 
.  .  .  Oh,  how  do  you  do  to-day,  Miss  Obloski  ?  My 
mouth  is  full  of  butter,  but  it  don't  seem  to  melt.  .  .  . 
Oh,  Miss  Obloski,  I  am  ready  to  faint  with  disgust. 
I  have  just  seen  a  man  drink  one  stein  of  beer.  I  am 
a  temptation  this  evening — let  me  just  look  in  dot 
locket  and  save  myself." 

Daisy  was  not  amused.  She  was  even  angry  with 
Linnevitch,  but  too  gentle  to  show  it.  Presently  she 
said  good-night  and  went  to  bed. 

"Now,"  said  Mrs.  Linnevitch,  "she'll  go  with  that 
young  feller  sure.  The  way  you  mocked  him  made 
her  mad.  I've  got  eyes  in  my  head.  Whatever  she 
used  to  think,  now  she  thinks  he's  a  live  saint." 

"I  wonder,  now?"  said  Linnevitch.  A  few  min 
utes'  wondering  must  have  brought  him  into  agreement 
with  his  wife,  for  presently  he  toiled  up  three  flights  of 
stairs  and  knocked  at  Daisy's  door. 

"Daisy,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Linnevitch?"  If  her  voice  had 
not  been  tearful  it  would  have  been  cold. 

The  man  winced.  "Mebbe  that  young  feller  is 
O.  K.,"  he  said.  "I  have  come  just  to  say  that. 

261 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

Mebbe  he  is.  But  you  just  let  me  look  him  up  a 
liddlebit— eh?" 

He  did  not  catch  her  answer. 

"  You  promise  me  that — eh  ?  Mrs.  Linnevitch  and 
me,  we  want  to  do  what  is  right  and  best.  We  don't 
want  our  liddle  Daisy  to  make  no  mistakes." 

He  had  no  answer  but  the  sounds  that  go  with  tears. 
He  knew  by  this  that  his  mockings  and  insinuations 
had  been  forgiven. 

"Good-night,  liddle  girl,"  he  said.  "Sleep  tight." 
His  own  voice  broke.  "I  be  your  popper — eh?"  he 
said. 

To  Barstow's  surprise  and  disappointment,  when 
he  named  a  time  for  her  first  lesson  in  dancing  Daisy 
refused  to  go. 

"Mrs.  Linnevitch  thinks  I  better  not  be  going  out 
nights,  Mr.  Barstow,"  she  said.  "  But  thank  you  ever 
so  much,  all  the  same." 

"Well,"  said  Barstow,  "I'm  disappointed.  But 
that's  nothing,  if  you're  not." 

Daisy  blushed.     "But  I  am,"  she  said. 

"Then,"  said  he,  "never  mind  what  they  say. 
Come  on!" 

Daisy  shook  her  head.     "  I  promised." 

"Look  here,  Miss  Obloski,  what's  wrong?  Let's 
be  honest,  whatever  else  we  are.  Is  it  because  they 

262 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

know  something  against  me,  because  they  think  they 
do,  or  because  they  know  that  they  don't?" 

"It's  that,"  said  Daisy.  "Mr.  Linnevitch  don't 
want  me  to  be  going  out  with  any  one  he  don't  know 
about." 

Barstow  was  obviously  relieved.  "Thank  you," 
he  said.  "That's  all  square  now.  It  isn't  Mrs.  Lin 
nevitch;  it's  the  boss.  It  isn't  going  out  in  general; 
it's  going  out  with  me!" 

Then  he  surprised  her.  "The  boss  is  absolutely 
right,"  he  said.  "I'm  for  him,  and,  Miss  Obloski,  I 
won't  ask  you  to  trust  me  until  I've  proved  to  Linne 
vitch  that  I'm  a  proper  guardian " 

"  It's  only  Mr.  Linnevitch,"  said  Daisy,  smiling  very 
sweetly.  "  It's  not  me.  I  trust  you."  Her  eyes  were 
like  two  serene  stars. 

Barstow  leaned  closer  and  spoke  lower.  "Miss 
Obloski,"  he  said,  "Daisy" —  and  he  lingered  on  the 
name — "  there's  only  one  thing  you  could  say  that  I'd 
rather  hear." 

Daisy  wanted  to  ask  what  that  was.  But  there  was 
no  natural  coquetry  in  the  girl.  She  did  not  dare. 

She  did  not  see  him  again  for  three  whole  days; 
but  she  fed  upon  his  last  words  to  her  until  she  was 
ready,  and  even  eager,  to  say  that  other  thing  which 
alone  he  would  rather  hear  than  that  she  trusted  him. 

Between  breakfast  and  dinner  on  the  fourth  day  a 
263 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

tremendous  great  man,  thick  in  the  chest  and  stomach, 
wearing  a  frock  coat  and  a  glossy  silk  hat,  entered  the 
restaurant.  The  man's  face,  a  miracle  of  close  shav 
ing,  had  the  same  descending  look  of  heaviness  as  his 
body.  But  it  was  a  strong,  commanding  face  in  spite 
of  the  pouched  eyes  and  the  drooping  flesh  about  the 
jaws  and  chin.  Daisy,  busy  with  her  book-keeping, 
looked  up  and  smiled,  with  her  strong  instinct  for 
friendliness. 

The  gentleman  removed  his  hat.  Most  of  his  head 
was  bald.  "  You'll  be  Miss  Obloski,"  he  said.  "  The 
top  o'  the  mornin'  to  you,  miss.  My  boy  has  often 
spoken  of  you.  I  call  him  my  boy  bekase  he's  been 
like  a  son  to  me — like  a  son.  Is  Linnevitch  in? 
Never  mind,  I  know  the  way." 

He  opened,  without  knocking  upon  it,  the  door 
which  led  from  the  restaurant  into  the  Linnevitches' 
parlor.  Evidently  a  great  man.  And  how  beautifully 
and  touchingly  he  had  spoken  of  Barstow!  Daisy  re 
turned  to  her  addition.  Two  and  three  are  six  and 
seven  are  twelve  and  four  are  nineteen.  Then  she 
frowned  and  tried  again. 

The  great  man  was  a  long  time  closeted  with  Linne 
vitch.  She  could  hear  their  voices,  now  loud  and 
angry,  now  subdued.  But  she  could  not  gather  what 
they  were  talking  about. 

At  length  the  two  emerged  from  the  parlor — Lin- 
264 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

nevitch  flushed,  red,  sullen,  and  browbeaten;  the 
stranger  grandly  at  ease,  an  unlighted  cigar  in  his 
mouth.  He  took  off  his  hat  to  Daisy,  bent  his  brows 
upon  her  with  an  admiring  glance,  and  passed  out 
into  the  sunlight. 

"Who  was  it?"   said  Daisy. 

"That,"  said  Linnevitch,  "is  Cullinan,  the  boss— 
Bull  Cullinan.  Once  he  was  a  policeman,  and  now 
he  is  a  millionaire." 

There  was  a  curious  mixture  of  contempt,  of  fear, 
and  of  adulation  in  Linnevitch's  voice. 

"  He  is  come  here,"  he  said,  "  to  tell  me  about  that 
young  feller." 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Daisy.     "  Mr.  Barstow  ?  " 

Linnevitch  did  not  meet  her  eye.  "I  am  wrong," 
he  said,  "and  that  young  feller  is  O.  K." 

When  Daisy  came  back  from  her  first  dancing  les 
son,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linnevitch  were  sitting  up  for  her. 
Her  gayety  and  high  spirits  seemed  to  move  the  couple, 
especially  Linnevitch,  deeply.  He  insisted  that  she 
eat  some  crackers  and  drink  a  glass  of  milk.  He  was 
wonderfully  gentle,  almost  tender,  in  his  manner;  but 
whenever  she  looked  at  him  he  looked  away. 


265 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 


VI 


It  was  as  if  heaven  had  opened  before  Daisy.  The 
blood  in  her  veins  moved  to  the  rhythm  of  dance  music; 
her  vision  was  being  fed  upon  color  and  light.  And, 
for  she  was  still  a  child,  she  was  taken  great  won 
ders  to  behold:  dogs  that  rode  upon  bicycles,  men 
who  played  upon  fifty  instruments,  clowns  that  caused 
whole  theatres  to  roar  with  laughter,  ladies  that  dove 
from  dizzy  heights,  bears  that  drank  beer,  Apollos  that 
seemed  to  have  been  born  turning  wonderful  somer 
saults.  And  always  at  her  side  was  her  man,  her 
well-beloved,  to  explain  and  to  protect.  He  was  care 
ful  of  her,  careful  as  a  man  is  careful  who  carries 
a  glass  of  water  filled  to  overflowing  without  losing  a 
drop.  And  if  little  by  little  he  explained  what  he 
called  "life"  to  her,  it  was  with  delicacy,  with  gravity 
— even,  as  it  seemed,  with  sorrow. 

His  kisses  filled  her  at  first  with  a  wonderful  tender 
ness;  at  last  with  desire,  so  that  her  eyes  narrowed  and 
she  breathed  quickly.  At  this  point  in  their  relations 
Barstow  put  off  his  pleading,  cajoling  manner,  and 
began,  little  by  little,  to  play  the  master.  In  the  mat 
ter  of  dress  and  deportment  he  issued  orders  now  in 
stead  of  suggestions;  and  she  only  worshipped  him 
the  more. 

266 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

When  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  she  could  refuse 
him  nothing  he  proposed  marriage.  Or  rather,  he 
issued  a  mandate.  He  had  led  her  to  a  seat  after  a 
romping  dance.  She  was  highly  flushed  with  the 
exercise  and  the  contact,  a  little  in  disarray,  breathing 
fast,  a  wonderful  look  of  exaltation  and  promise  in  her 
face.  He  was  white,  as  always,  methodic,  and  cool — 
the  man  who  arranges,  who  makes  light  of  difficulties, 
who  gives  orders;  the  man  who  has  money  in  his 
pocket. 

"Kid,"  he  whispered,  "when  the  restaurant  closes 
to-morrow  night  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  see  a  friend 
of  mine — an  alderman." 

She  smiled  brightly,  lips  parted  in  expectation.  She 
knew  by  experience  that  he  would  presently  tell  her 
why. 

"You're  to  quit  Linnevitch  for  good,"  he  said. 
"So  have  your  things  ready." 

Although  the  place  was  so  crowded  that  whirling 
couples  occasionally  bumped  into  their  knees  or  stum 
bled  over  their  feet,  Barstow  took  her  hand  with  the 
naive  and  easy  manner  of  those  East  Siders  whom  he 
affected  to  despise. 

"You  didn't  guess  we  were  going  to  be  married  so 
soon,  did  you?"  he  said. 

She  pressed  his  hand.  Her  eyes  were  round  with 
wonder. 

267 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

"At  first,"  he  went  on,  "we'll  look  about  before  we 
go  to  house-keeping.  I've  taken  nice  rooms  for  us — 
a  parlor  and  bedroom  suite.  Then  we  can  take  our 
time  looking  until  we  find  just  the  right  house-keeping 
flat." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  are  you  sure  you  want  me  ?" 

He  teased  her.  He  said,  "Oh,  I  don't  know"  and 
"I  wouldn't  wonder,"  and  pursed  up  his  lips  in  scorn; 
but  at  the  same  time  he  regarded  her  out  of  the  corners 
of  roguish  eyes.  "Say,  kid,"  he  said  presently — and 
his  gravity  betokened  the  importance  of  the  matter — 
"Cullinan's  dead  for  it.  He's  going  to  be  a  witness, 
and  afterward  he's  going  to  blow  us  to  supper — just 
us  two.  How's  that?" 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "that's  fine!" 

The  next  morning  Daisy  told  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linne- 
vitch  that  she  was  to  be  married  as  soon  as  the  restau 
rant  closed.  But  they  had  schooled  themselves  by 
now  to  expect  this  event,  and  said  very  little.  Linne- 
vitch,  however,  was  very  quiet  all  day.  Every  now 
and  then  an  expression  little  short  of  murderous  came 
into  his  face,  to  be  followed  by  a  vacant,  dazed  look, 
and  this  in  turn  by  sudden  uncontrollable  starts  of 
horror.  At  these  times  he  might  have  stood  for 
"  Judas  beginning  to  realize  what  he  has  done." 

Barstow,  carrying  Daisy's  parcel,  went  out  first. 
He  was  always  tactful.  Daisy  flung  herself  into 

268 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

Mrs.  Linnevitch's  arms.  The  undemonstrative  woman 
shed  tears  and  kissed  her.  Linnevitch  could  not 
speak.  And  when  Daisy  had  gone  at  last,  the  couple 
stood  and  looked  at  the  floor  between  them.  So  I 
have  seen  a  father  and  mother  stand  and  look  into 
the  coffin  of  their  only  child. 

If  the  reader's  suspicions  have  been  aroused,  let 
me  set  them  at  rest.  The  marriage  was  genuine.  It 
was  performed  in  good  faith  by  a  genuine  alderman. 
The  groom  and  the  great  Mr.  Cullinan  even  went  so 
far  as  to  disport  genuine  and  generous  white  bouton- 
nieres.  Daisy  cried  a  little;  the  words  that  she  had 
to  say  seemed  so  wonderful  to  her,  a  new  revelation, 
as  it  were,  of  the  kingdom  and  glory  of  love.  But 
when  she  was  promising  to  cleave  to  Barstow  in  sick 
ness  and  peril  till  death  parted  them,  her  heart  beat 
with  a  great,  valiant  fierceness.  So  the  heart  of  the 
female  tiger  beats  in  tenderness  for  her  young. 

Barstow  was  excited  and  nervous,  as  became  a 
groom.  Even  the  great  Mr.  Cullinan  shook  a  little 
under  the  paternal  jocoseness  with  which  he  came 
forward  to  kiss  the  bride. 

There  was  a  supper  waiting  in  the  parlor  of  the 
rooms  which  Barstow  had  hired:  cold  meats,  salad, 
fruit,  and  a  bottle  of  champagne.  While  the  gentle 
men  divested  themselves  of  their  hats  and  overcoats, 
Daisy  carried  her  parcel  into  the  bedroom  and  opened 

269 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

it  on  the  bureau.  Then  she  took  off  her  hat  and 
tidied  her  hair.  She  hardly  recognized  the  face  that 
looked  out  of  the  mirror.  She  had  never,  before  that 
moment,  realized  that  she  was  beautiful,  that  she  had 
something  to  give  to  the  man  she  loved  that  was  worth 
giving.  Her  eyes  fell  upon  her  old  doll,  the  companion 
of  so  many  years.  She  laughed  a  happy  little  laugh. 
She  had  grown  up.  The  doll  was  only  a  doll  now. 
But  she  kissed  it,  because  she  loved  it  still.  And  she 
put  it  carefully  away  in  a  drawer,  lest  the  sight  of  a 
childishness  offend  the  lord  and  master. 

As  she  passed  the  great  double  bed,  with  its  two 
snow-white  pillows,  her  knees  weakened.  It  was  like 
a  hint  to  perform  a  neglected  duty.  She  knelt,  and 
prayed  God  to  let  her  make  Barstow  happy  forever 
and  ever.  Then,  beautiful  and  abashed,  she  joined 
the  gentlemen. 

As  she  seated  herself  with  dignity,  as  became  a  good 
housewife  presiding  at  her  own  table,  the  two  gentle 
men  lifted  their  glasses  of  champagne.  There  was 
a  full  glass  beside  Daisy's  plate.  Her  fingers  closed 
lightly  about  the  stem;  but  she  looked  to  Barstow  for 
orders.  "  Ought  I  ?  "  she  said. 

"Sure/*  said  he,  "a  little  champagne — won't  hurt 
you." 

No,  Daisy;  only  what  was  in  the  champagne.  She 
had  her  little  moment  of  exhilaration,  of  self-delight- 

270 


THE  CLAWS  OF  THE  TIGER 

ing  ease  and  vivacity — then  dizziness,  then  awful  nau 
sea,  and  awful  fear,  and  oblivion. 

The  great  Mr.  Cullinan — Bull  Cullinan — caught 
her  as  she  was  falling.  He  regarded  the  bridegroom 
with  eyes  in  which  there  was  no  expression  whatever. 

"Get  out!"  he  said. 

And  then  he  was  alone  with  her,  and  safe,  in  the 
dark  shadow  of  the  wings. 


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GROWING  UP 

The  children  were  all  down  in  the  salt-marsh  play 
ing  at  marriage-by-capture.  It  was  a  very  good  play. 
You  ran  just  as  fast  after  the  ugly  girls  as  the  pretty 
ones,  and  you  didn't  have  to  abide  by  the  result. 
One  little  girl  got  so  excited  that  she  fell  into  the 
river,  and  it  was  Andramark  who  pulled  her  out, 
and  beat  her  on  the  back  till  she  stopped  choking. 
It  may  .be  well  to  remember  that  she  was  named 
Tassel  Top,  a  figure  taken  from  the  Indian-corn  ear 
when  it  is  in  silk. 

Andramark  was  the  name  of  the  boy.  He  was  the 
seventh  son  of  Squirrel  Eyes,  and  all  his  six  brothers 
were  dead,  because  they  had  been  born  in  hard  times, 
or  had  fallen  out  of  trees,  or  had  been  drowned.  To 
grow  up  in  an  Indian  village,  especially  when  it  is 
travelling,  is  very  difficult.  Sometimes  a  boy's  mother 
has  to  work  so  hard  that  she  runs  plumb  out  of  milk; 
and  sometimes  he  gets  playing  too  roughly  with  the 
other  boys,  and  gets  wounded,  and  blood-poisoning 
sets  in;  or  he  finds  a  dead  fish  and  cooks  it  and  eats 
it,  and  ptomaine  poisoning  sets  in;  or  he  catches  too 
much  cold  on  a  full  stomach,  or  too  much  malaria  on 

275 


GROWING  UP 

an  empty  one.  Or  he  tries  to  win  glory  by  stealing 
a  bear  cub  when  its  mother  isn't  looking,  or  a  neigh 
boring  tribe  drops  in  between  days  for  an  unfriendly 
visit,  and  some  big  painted  devil  knocks  him  over  the 
head  and  takes  his  scalp  home  to  his  own  little  boy 
to  play  with. 

Contrariwise,  if  he  does  manage  to  grow  up  and 
reach  man's  estate  he's  got  something  to  brag  of. 
Only  he  doesn't  do  it;  because  the  first  thing  that 
people  learn  who  have  to  live  very  intimately  together 
is  that  bore  and  boaster  are  synonymous  terms.  So 
he  never  brags  of  what  he  has  accomplished  in  the 
way  of  deeds  and  experiences  until  he  is  married. 
And  then  only  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  lodge,  when 
that  big  hickory  stick  which  he  keeps  for  the  purpose 
assures  him  of  the  beloved  one's  best  ears  and  most 
flattering  attention. 

Andramark's  father  was  worse  than  dead.  He  had 
been  tried  in  the  council-lodge  by  the  elders,  and  had 
been  found  guilty  of  something  which  need  not  be 
gone  into  here,  and  driven  forth  into  the  wilder 
ness  which  surrounded  the  summer  village  to  shift  for 
himself.  By  the  same  judgment  the  culprit's  wife, 
Squirrel  Eyes,  was  pronounced  a  widow.  Most 
women  in  her  position  would  have  been  ambitious  to 
marry  again,  but  Squirrel  Eyes's  only  ambition  was  to 
raise  her  seventh  son  to  be  the  pride  and  support  of 

276 


GROWING  UP 

her  old  age.  She  had  had  quite  enough  of  marriage, 
she  would  have  thanked  you. 

So,  when  Andramark  was  thirteen  years  old,  and 
very  swift  and  husky  for  his  age,  Squirrel  Eyes  went 
to  the  Wisest  Medicine-man,  and  begged  him  to  take 
her  boy  in  hand  and  make  a  man  of  him. 

"Woman,"  the  Wisest  Medicine-man  had  said, 
"fifteen  is  the  very  greenest  age  at  which  boys  are 
made  men,  but  seeing  that  you  are  a  widow,  and  with 
out  support,  it  may  be  that  something  can  be  done. 
We  will  look  into  the  matter." 

That  was  why  Owl  Eyes,  the  Wisest  Medicine-man, 
invited  two  of  his  cronies  to  sit  with  him  on  the  bluff 
overlooking  the  salt-marsh  and  watch  the  children 
playing  at  marriage-by-capture. 

Those  old  men  were  among  the  best  judges  of 
sports  and  form  living.  They  could  remember  three 
generations  of  hunters  and  fighters.  They  had  all 
the  records  for  jumping,  swimming  under  water, 
spear-throwing,  axe-throwing,  and  bow-shooting  at 
their  tongues'  ends.  And  they  knew  the  pedigree  for 
many,  many  generations  of  every  child  at  that  mo 
ment  playing  in  the  meadow,  and  into  just  what  sort 
of  man  or  woman  that  child  should  grow,  with  good 
luck  and  proper  training. 

Owl  Eyes  did  not  call  his  two  cronies'  attention  to 
Andramark.  If  there  was  any  precocity  in  the  lad  it 

277 


GROWING  UP 

would  show  of  itself,  and  nothing  would  escape  their 
black,  jewel-like,  inscrutable  eyes.  When  Tassel  Top 
fell  into  the  river  the  aged  pair  laughed  heartily,  and 
when  Andramark,  without  changing  his  stride,  fol 
lowed  her  in  and  fished  her  out,  one  of  them  said, 
"That's  a  quick  boy,"  and  the  other  said,  "Why 
hasn't  that  girl  been  taught  to  swim?"  Owl  Eyes 
said,  "  That's  a  big  boy  for  only  thirteen — that  Andra 
mark."  .,- 

In  the  next  event  Andramark  from  scratch  ran 
through  a  field — some  of  the  boys  were  older  and 
taller  than  himself — and  captured  yet  another  wife, 
who,  because  she  expected  and  longed  to  be  caught  by 
some  other  boy,  promptly  boxed — the  air  where  his 
ears  had  been.  Andramark,  smiling,  caught  both  her 
hands  in  one  of  his,  tripped  her  over  a  neatly  placed 
foot,  threw  her,  face  down,  and  seated  himself  quietly 
on  the  small  of  her  back  and  rubbed  her  nose  in  the 
mud. 

The  other  children,  laughing  and  shouting,  rushed 
to  the  rescue.  Simultaneously  Andramark,  also  laugh 
ing,  was  on  his  feet,  running  and  dodging.  Twice 
he  passed  through  the  whole  mob  of  his  pursuers 
without,  so  it  seemed  to  the  aged  watchers  on  the 
bluff,  being  touched.  Then,  having  won  some  ten 
yards  clear  of  them,  he  wheeled  about  and  stood 
with  folded  arms.  A  great  lad  foremost  in  the  pur- 

278 


GROWING  UP 

suit  reached  for  him,  was  caught  instead  by  the 
outstretched  hand  and  jerked  forward  on  his  face. 
Some  of  the  children  laughed  so  hard  that  they  had  to 
stop  running.  Others  redoubled  their  efforts  to  close 
with  the  once  more  darting,  dodging,  and  squirming 
Andramark,  who,  however,  threading  through  them 
for  the  third  and  last  time  in  the  most  mocking  and 
insulting  manner,  headed  straight  for  the  bluff  a  little 
to  the  right  of  where  his  elders  and  betters  were  seated 
with  their  legs  hanging  over,  leaped  at  a  dangling  wild 
grape-vine,  squirmed  to  the  top,  turned,  and  prepared 
to  defend  his  position  against  any  one  insolent  enough 
to  assail  it. 

The  children,  crowded  at  the  base  of  the  little  bluff, 
looked  up.  Andramark  looked  down.  With  one  hand 
and  the  tip  of  his  nose  he  made  the  insulting  gesture 
which  is  older  than  antiquity. 

Meanwhile,  Owl  Eyes  had  left  his  front-row  seat, 
and  not  even  a  waving  of  the  grasses  showed  that  he 
was  crawling  upon  Andramark  from  behind. 

Owl  Eyes's  idea  was  to  push  the  boy  over  the  bluff 
as  a  lesson  to  him  never  to  concentrate  himself  too 
much  on  one  thing  at  a  time.  But  just  at  the  crucial 
moment  Andramark  leaped  to  one  side,  and  it  was 
a  completely  flabbergasted  old  gentleman  who  de 
scended  through  the  air  in  his  stead  upon  a  scatter 
ing  flock  of  children.  Owl  Eyes,  still  agile  at  eighty, 

279 


GROWING  UP 

gathered  himself  into  a  ball,  jerked  violently  with  his 
head  and  arms,  and  managed  to  land  on  his  feet. 
But  he  was  very  much  shaken,  and  nobody  laughed. 
He  turned  and  looked  up  at  Andramark,  and  Andra- 
mark  looked  down. 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Andramark.  "I  knew 
you  were  there  all  the  time." 

Owl  Eyes's  two  cronies  grinned  behind  their  hands. 

"  Come  down,"  said  Owl  Eyes  sternly. 

Andramark  leaped  and  landed  lightly,  and  stood 
with  folded  arms  and  looked  straight  into  the  eyes 
of  the  Wisest  Medicine-man.  Everybody  made  sure 
that  there  was  going  to*  be  one  heap  big  beating,  and 
there  were  not  wanting  those  who  would  have  volun 
teered  to  fetch  a  stick,  even  from  a  great  distance. 
But  Owl  Eyes  was  not  called  the  Wisest  Medicine 
man  for  nothing.  His  first  thought  had  been,  "  I  will 
beat  the  life  out  of  this  boy."  But  then  (it  was  a 
strict  rule  that  he  always  followed)  he  recited  to  him 
self  the  first  three  stanzas  of  the  Rain-Maker's  song, 
and  had  a  new  and  wiser  thought.  This  he  spoke 
aloud. 

"  Boy,"  he  said,  "  beginning  to-morrow  I  myself  shall 
take  you  in  hand  and  make  a  man  of  you.  You  will 
be  at  the  medicine-lodge  at  noon.  Meanwhile  go  to 
your  mother's  lodge  and  tell  her  from  me  to  give  you 
a  sound  beating." 

280 


GROWING  UP 

The  children  marvelled,  the  boys  envied,  and 
Andramark,  his  head  very  high,  his  heart  thumping, 
passed  among  them  and  went  home  to  his  mother  and 
repeated  what  the  Wisest  Medicine-man  had  said. 

"And  you  are  to  give  me  a  sound  beating,  mother," 
said  Andramark,  "because  after  to-day  they  will  be 
gin  making  a  man  of  me,  and  when  I  am  a  man  it 
will  be  the  other  way  around,  and  I  shall  have  to  beat 
you." 

His  back  was  bare,  and  he  bent  forward  so  that  his 
mother  could  beat  him.  And  she  took  down  from 
the  lodge-pole  a  heavy  whip  of  raw  buckskin.  It  was 
not  so  heavy  as  her  heart. 

Then  she  raised  the  whip  and  said: 

"A  blow  for  the  carrying,"  and  she  struck;  "a  blow 
for  the  bearing,"  and  she  struck;  "a  blow  for  the 
milking,"  and  she  struck;  "a  blow  for  lies  spoken," 
and  she  did  not  strike;  "a  blow  for  food  stolen,"  and 
she  did  not  strike. 

And  she  went  through  the  whole  litany  of  the  beat 
ing  ceremonial  and  struck  such  blows  as  the  law  de 
manded,  and  spared  those  she  honestly  could  spare, 
and  when  in  doubt  she  quibbled — struck,  but  struck 
lightly. 

When  the  beating  was  over  they  sat  down  fac 
ing  each  other  and  talked.  And  Squirrel  Eyes  said: 
"  What  must  be,  must.  The  next  few  days  will  soon 
be  over." 

281 


GROWING  UP 

And  Andramark  shuddered  (he  was  alone  with  his 
mother)  and  said,  "  If  I  show  that  they  hurt  me  they 
will  never  let  me  be  a  man." 

And  Squirrel  Eyes  did  her  best  to  comfort  him  and 
put  courage  in  his  heart,  just  as  modern  mothers  do 
for  sons  who  are  about  to  have  a  tooth  pulled  or  a 
tonsil  taken  out. 

The  next  day  at  noon  sharp  Andramark  stood  be 
fore  the  entrance  of  the  medicine-lodge  with  his  arms 
folded;  and  all  his  boy  and  girl  friends  watched  him 
from  a  distance.  And  all  the  boys  envied  him,  and 
all  the  girls  wished  that  they  were  boys.  Andramark 
stood  very  still,  almost  without  swaying,  for  the  better 
part  of  an  hour.  His  body  was  nicely  greased,  and 
he  resembled  a  wet  terra-cotta  statue.  A  few  mos 
quitoes  were  fattening  themselves  on  him,  and  a  bite 
in  the  small  of  his  back  itched  so  that  he  wanted  very 
much  to  squirm  and  wriggle.  But  that  would  have 
been  almost  as  bad  an  offence  against  ceremonial  as 
complaining  of  hunger  during  the  fast  or  shedding 
tears  under  the  torture. 

Andramark  had  never  seen  the  inside  of  the  medi 
cine-lodge;  but  it  was  well  known  to  be  very  dark, 
and  to  contain  skulls  and  thigh-bones  of  famous 
enemies,  and  devil-masks,  and  horns  and  rattles  and 
other  disturbing  and  ghostly  properties.  Of  what 
would  happen  to  him  when  he  had  passed  between 
the  flaps  of  the  lodge  and  was  alone  with  the  medicine- 

282 


GROWING  UP 

men  he  did  not  know.  But  he  reasoned  that  if  they 
really  wanted  to  make  a  man  of  him  they  would  not 
really  try  to  kill  him  or  maim  him.  And  he  was  strong 
in  the  determination,  no  matter  what  should  happen, 
to  show  neither  surprise,  fear,  nor  pain. 

A  quiet  voice  spoke  suddenly,  just  within  the  flaps 
of  the  lodge: 

"Who  is  standing  without?" 

"The  boy  Andramark." 

"What  do  you  wish  of  us?" 

"To  be  made  a  man." 

"Then  say  farewell  to  your  companions  of  child 
hood." 

Andramark  turned  toward  the  boys  and  girls  who 
were  watching  him.  Their  faces  swam  a  little  before 
his  eyes,  and  he  felt  a  big  lump  coming  slowly  up  in 
his  throat.  He  raised  his  right  arm  to  its  full  length, 
palm  forward,  and  said: 

"Farewell,  O  children;  I  shall  never  play  with  you 
any  more." 

Then  the  children  set  up  a  great  howl  of  lamenta 
tion,  which  was  all  part  of  the  ceremonial,  and  Andra 
mark  turned  and  found  that  the  flaps  of  the  lodge 
had  been  drawn  aside,  and  that  within  there  was 
thick  darkness  and  the  sound  of  men  breathing. 

"  Come  in,  Andramark." 

The  flaps  of  the  lodge  fell  together  behind  him. 
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GROWING  UP 

Fingers  touched  his  shoulder  and  guided  him  in  the 
dark,  and  then  a  voice  told  him  to  sit  down.  His 
quick  eyes,  already  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  rec 
ognized  one  after  another  the  eleven  medicine-men 
of  his  tribe.  They  were  seated  cross-legged  in  a 
semicircle,  and  one  of  them  was  thumbing  tobacco 
into  the  bowl  of  a  poppy-red  pipe.  Some  of  the 
medicine-men  had  rattles  handy  in  their  laps,  others 
devil-horns.  They  were  all  smiling  and  looking  kindly 
at  the  little  boy  who  sat  all  alone  by  himself  fac 
ing  them.  Then  old  Owl  Eyes,  who  was  the  cen 
tral  medicine-man  of  the  eleven,  spoke. 

"  In  this  lodge,"  he  said,  "  no  harm  will  befall  you. 
But  lest  the  womfen  and  children  grow  to  think  lightly 
of  manhood  there  will  be  from  time  to  time  much  din 
and  devil-noises." 

At  that  the  eleven  medicine-men  began  to  rock  their 
bodies  and  groan  like  lost  souls  (they  groaned  louder- 
and  louder,  with  a  kind  of  awful  rhythm),  and  to  shake 
the  devil-rattles,  which  were  dried  gourds,  brightly 
painted,  and  containing  teeth  of  famous  enemies,  and 
one  of  the  medicine-men  tossed  a  devil-horn  to  Andra- 
mark,  and  the  boy  put  it  to  his  lips  and  blew  for  all 
he  was  worth.  It  was  quite  obvious  that  the  medicine 
men  were  just  having  fun,  not  with  him,  but  with  all 
the  women  and  children  of  the  village  who  were  out 
side  listening — at  a  safe  distance,  of  course — and  im- 

284 


GROWING  UP 

agining  that  the  medicine-lodge  was  at  that  moment 
a  scene  of  the  most  awful  visitations  and  terrors.  And 
all  that  afternoon,  at  intervals,  the  ghastly  uproar  was 
repeated,  until  Andramark's  lips  were  chapped  with 
blowing  the  devil-horn  and  his  insides  felt  very  shaky. 
But  between  times  the  business  of  the  medicine-men 
with  Andramark  was  very  serious,  and  they  talked  to 
him  like  so  many  fathers,  and  he  listened  with  both 
ears  and  pulled  at  the  poppy-red  medicine-pipe  when 
ever  it  was  passed  to  him. 

They  lectured  him  upon  anatomy  and  hygiene; 
upon  tribal  laws  and  intertribal  laws;  and  always  they 
explained  "why"  as  well  as  they  could,  and  if  they 
didn't  know  "  why"  they  said  it  must  be  right  because 
it's  always  been  done  that  way.  Sometimes  they  said 
things  that  made  him  feel  very  self-conscious  and  un 
comfortable.  And  sometimes  they  became  so  interest 
ing  that  it  was  the  other  way  round. 

"The  gulf,"  said  Owl  Eyes,  "between  the  race  of 
men  and  the  races  of  women  and  children  is  knowledge. 
For,  whereas  many  squaws  and  little  children  possess 
courage,  knowledge  is  kept  from  them,  even  as  the 
first-run  shad  of  the  spring.  The  duty  of  the  child  is 
to  acquire  strength  and  skill,  of  the  woman  to  bear 
children,  to  labor  in  the  corn-field,  and  to  keep  the 
lodge.  But  the  duty  of  man  is  to  hunt,  and  to  fight, 
and  to  make  medicine,  to  know,  and  to  keep  knowl- 

285 


GROWING  UP 

edge  to  himself.  Hence  the  saying  that  whatever  man 
betrays  the  secrets  of  the  council-lodge  to  a  squaw  is  a 
squaw  himself.  Hitherto,  Andramark,  you  have  been 
a  talkative  child,  but  henceforth  you  will  watch 
your  tongue  as  a  warrior  watches  the  prisoner  that 
he  is  bringing  to  his  village  for  torture.  When  a  man 
ceases  to  be  a  mystery  to  the  women  and  children  he 
ceases  to  be  a  man.  Do  not  tell  them  what  has  passed 
in  the  medicine-lodge,  but  let  it  appear  that  you  could 
discourse  of  ghostly  mysteries  and  devilish  visitations 
and  other  dread  wonders — if  you  would;  so  that 
even  to  the  mother  that  bore  you  you  will  be  hence 
forward  and  forever  a  thing  apart,  a  thing  above,  a 
thing  beyond." 

And  the  old  medicine-man  who  sat  on  Owl  Eyes's 
left  cleared  his  throat  and  said: 

"  When  a  man's  wife  is  in  torment,  it  is  as  well  for 
him  to  nod  his  head  and  let  her  believe  that  she  does 
not  know  what  suffering  is." 

Another  said: 

"Should  a  man's  child  ask  what  the  moon  is  made 
of,  let  that  man  answer  that  it  is  made  of  foolish  ques 
tions,  but  at  the  same  time  let  him  smile,  as  much  as 
to  say  that  he  could  give  the  truthful  answer — if  he 
would." 

Another  said: 

"  When  you  lie  to  women  and  children,  lie  foolishly, 
286 


GROWING  UP 

so  that  they  may  know  that  you  are  making  sport  of 
them  and  may  be  ashamed.  In  this  way  a  man  may 
keep  the  whole  of  his  knowledge  to  himself,  like  a 
basket  of  corn  hidden  in  a  place  of  his  own  secret 
choosing." 

Still  another  pulled  one  flap  of  the  lodge  a  little  so 
that  a  ray  of  light  entered.  He  held  his  hand  in  the 
ray  and  said : 

"The  palm  of  my  hand  is  in  darkness,  the  back  is 
in  light.  It  is  the  same  with  all  acts  and  happenings 
— there  is  a  bright  side  and  a  dark  side.  Never  be  so 
foolish  as  to  look  on  the  dark  side  of  things;  there  may 
be  somewhat  there  worth  discovering,  but  it  is  in  vain 
to  look  because  it  cannot  be  seen." 

And  Owl  Eyes  said: 

"It  will  be  well  now  to  rest  ourselves  from  serious 
ness  with  more  din  and  devil-noises.  And  after  that 
we  shall  lead  the  man-boy  Andramark  to  the  Lodge 
of  Nettles,  there  to  sit  alone  for  a  space  and  to  turn 
over  in  his  mind  all  that  we  have  said  to  him." 

"  One  thing  more."  This  from  a  very  little  medi 
cine-man  who  had  done  very  little  talking.  "When 
you  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  women  and  children  from 
the  Hot  Lodge  to  the  river,  watch  neither  their  eyes 
nor  their  whips;  watch  only  their  feet,  lest  you  be 
tripped  and  thrown  at  the  very  threshold  of  manhood." 

Nettles,  thistles,  and  last  year's  burdocks  and  sand- 
287 


GROWING  UP 

spurs  strewed  the  floor  of  the  lodge  to  which  Andra- 
mark  was  now  taken.  And  he  was  told  that  he  must 
not  thrust  these  to  one  side  and  make  himself  comfort 
able  upon  the  bare  ground.  He  might  sit,  or  stand,  or 
lie  down;  he  might  walk  about;  but  he  mustn't  think 
of  going  to  sleep,  or,  indeed,  of  anything  but  the  knowl 
edge  and  mysteries  which  had  been  revealed  to  him 
in  the  medicine-lodge. 

All  that  night,  all  the  next  day,  and  all  the  next  night 
he  meditated.  For  the  first  six  hours  he  meditated  on 
knowledge,  mystery,  and  the  whole  duty  of  man,  just 
as  he  had  been  told  to  do.  And  he  only  stopped  once 
to  listen  to  a  flute-player  who  had  stolen  into  the  forest 
back  of  the  lodge  and  was  trying  to  tell  some  young 
squaw  how  much  he  loved  her  and  how  lonely  he  was 
without  her.  The  flute  had  only  four  notes  and  one 
of  them  was  out  of  order;  but  Andramark  had  been 
brought  up  on  that  sort  of  music  and  it  sounded  very 
beautiful  to  him.  Still,  he  only  listened  with  one  ear, 
Indian  fashion.  The  other  was  busy  taking  in  all  the 
other  noises  of  the  night  and  the  village.  Somebody 
passed  by  the  Lodge  of  Nettles,  walking  very  slowly 
and  softly.  "A  man,"  thought  Andramark,  "would 
not  make  any  noise  at  all.  A  child  would  be  in  bed." 

The  slow,  soft  steps  were  nearing  the  forest  back  of 
the  lodge,  quickening  a  little.  Contrariwise,  the  flute 
was  being  played  more  and  more  slowly.  Each  of  its 

288 


GROWING  UP 

three  good  notes  was  a  stab  at  the  feelings,  and  so,  for 
that  matter,  was  the  note  that  had  gone  wrong.  An 
owl  hooted.  Andramark  smiled.  If  he  had  been  born 
enough  hundreds  of  years  later  he  might  have  said, 
"You  can't  fool  me!" 

The  flute-playing  stopped  abruptly.  Andramark 
forgot  all  about  the  nettles  and  sat  down.  Then  he 
stood  up. 

He  meditated  on  war  and  women,  just  as  he  had 
been  told  to  do.  Then,  because  he  was  thirsty,  he  med 
itated  upon  suffering.  And  he  finished  the  night  med 
itating — upon  an  empty  stomach. 

Light  filtered  under  the  skirts  of  the  lodge.  He  heard 
the  early  women  going  to  their  work  in  the  fields.  The 
young  leaves  were  on  the  oaks,  and  it  was  corn-plant 
ing  time.  Even  very  old  corn,  however,  tastes  very 
good  prepared  in  any  number  of  different  ways.  An 
dramark  agreed  with  himself  that  when  he  gave  him 
self  in  marriage  it  would  be  to  a  woman  who  was  a 
thoroughly  good  cook.  But  quite  raw  food  is  accept 
able  at  times.  It  is  pleasant  to  crack  quail  eggs  be 
tween  the  teeth,  or  to  rip  the  roe  out  of  a  fresh-caught 
shad  with  your  forefinger  and  just  let  it  melt  in  your 
mouth. 

The  light  brightened.  It  was  a  fine  day.  It  grew 
warm  in  the  lodge,  hot,  intolerably  hot.  The  skins  of 
which  it  was  made  exhaled  a  smoky,  meaty  smell.  An- 

289 


GROWING  UP 

dramark  was  tempted  to  see  if  he  couldn't  suck  a  little 
nourishment  out  of  them.  A  shadow  lapped  the  skirts 
of  the  lodge  and  crawled  upward.  It  became  cool, 
cold.  The  boy,  almost  naked,  began  to  shiver  and 
shake.  He  swung  his  arms  as  cab-drivers  do,  and 
tried  very  hard  to  meditate  upon  the  art  of  being  a  man. 

During  the  second  night  one  of  his  former  compan 
ions  crept  up  to  the  lodge  and  spoke  to  him  under  its 
skirts.  "Sst!  Heh!  What  does  it  feel  like  to  be  a 
man?" — chuckled  and  withdrew. 

Andramark  said  to  himself  the  Indian  for  "  I'll  lay 
for  that  boy."  He  was  very  angry.  He  had  been 
gratuitously  insulted  in  the  midst  of  his  new  dignities. 

Suddenly  the  flaps  of  the  lodge  were  opened  and 
some  one  leaned  in  and  set  something  upon  the  floor. 
Andramark  did  not  move.  His  nostrils  dilated,  and 
he  said  to  himself,  "Venison — broiled  to  the  second." 

In  the  morning  he  saw  that  there  was  not  only  veni 
son,  but  a  bowl  of  water,  and  a  soft  bearskin  upon 
which  he  might  stretch  himself  and  sleep.  His  lips 
curled  with  a  great  scorn.  And  he  remained  standing 
and  aloof  from  the  temptations.  And  meditated  upon 
the  privileges  of  being  a  man. 

About  noon  he  began  to  have  visitors.  At  first  they 
were  vague,  dark  spots  that  hopped  and  ziddied  in  the 
overheated  air.  But  these  became,  with  careful  look 
ing,  all  sorts  of  devils  and  evil  spirits,  and  beasts  the 

290 


GROWING  UP 

like  of  which  were  not  in  the  experience  of  any  living 
man.  There  were  creatures  made  like  men,  only  that 
they  were  covered  with  long,  silky  hair  and  had  cry 
baby  faces  and  long  tails.  And  there  was  ,a  vague, 
yellowish  beast,  very  terrible,  something  like  a  huge 
cat,  only  that  it  had  curling  tusks  like  a  very  big  wild 
pig.  And  there  were  other  things  that  looked  like 
men,  only  that  they  were  quite  white,  as  if  they  had 
been  most  awfully  frightened.  And  suddenly  An- 
dramark  imagined  that  he  was  hanging  to  a  tree,  but 
not  by  his  hands  or  his  feet,  and  the  limb  to  which  he 
was  hanging  broke,  and,  after  falling  for  two  or  three 
days,  he  landed  on  his  feet  among  burs  and  nettles 
that  were  spread  over  the  floor  of  a  lodge. 

The  child  had  slept  standing  up,  and  had  evolved 
from  his  subconsciousness,  as  children  will,  beasts  and 
conditions  that  had  existed  when  the  whole  human  race 
was  a  frightened  cry-baby  in  its  cradle.  He  had  never 
heard  of  a  monkey  or  a  sabre-tooth  tiger;  but  he  had 
managed  to  see  a  sort  of  vision  of  them  both,  and  had 
dreamed  that  he  was  a  monkey  hanging  by  his  tail. 

He  was  very  faint  and  sick  when  the  medicine-men 
came  for  him.  But  it  did  not  show  in  his  face,  and 
he  walked  firmly  among  them  to  the  great  Torture 
Lodge,  his  head  very  high  and  the  ghost  of  a  smile 
hovering  about  his  mouth. 

It  was  a  grim  business  that  waited  him  in  the  Tort- 
291 


GROWING  UP 

ure  Lodge.  He  was  strung  up  by  his  thumbs  to  a 
peg  high  up  the  great  lodge  pole,  and  drawn  taut  by 
thongs  from  his  big  toes  to  another  peg  in  the  base  of 
the  pole,  and  then,  without  any  unnecessary  delays, 
for  every  step  in  the  proceeding  was  according  to  a 
ceremonial  that  was  almost  as  old  as  suffering,  they 
gave  him,  what  with  blunt  flint-knives  and  lighted 
slivers  of  pitch-pine,  a  very  good  working  idea  of  hell. 
They  told  him,  without  words,  which  are  the  very  ten- 
derest  and  most  nervous  places  in  all  the  human  an 
atomy,  and  showed  him  how  simple  it  is  to  give  a  lit 
tle  boy  all  the  sensations  of  major  operations  without 
actually  removing  his  arms  and  legs.  And  they  talked 
to  him.  They  told  him  that  because  he  came  of  a 
somewhat  timorous  family  they  were  letting  him  off 
very  easily;  that  they  weren't  really  hurting  him,  be 
cause  it  was  evident  from  the  look  of  him  that  at  the 
first  hint  of  real  pain  he  would  scream  and  cry.  And 
then  suddenly,  just  when  the  child  was  passing  through 
the  ultimate  border-land  of  endurance,  they  cut  him 
down,  and  praised  him,  and  said  that  he  had  behaved 
splendidly,  and  had  taken  to  torture  as  a  young  duck 
takes  to  water.  And  poor  little  Andramark  found  that 
under  the  circumstances  kindness  was  the  very  hardest 
thing  of  all  to  bear.  One  after  another  great  lumps 
rushed  up  his  throat,  and  he  began  to  tremble  and 
totter  and  struggle  with  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

292 


GROWING  UP 

Old  Owl  Eyes,  who  had  tortured  plenty  of  brave 
boys  in  his  day,  was  ready  for  this  phase.  He  caught 
up  a  great  bowl  of  ice-cold  spring-water  and  emptied  it 
with  all  his  strength  against  Andramark's  bloody  back. 
The  shock  of  that  sudden  icy  blow  brought  the  boy's 
runaway  nerves  back  into  hand.  He  shook  himself, 
drew  a  long  breath,  and,  without  a  quiver  anywhere, 
smiled. 

And  the  old  men  were  as  glad  as  he  was  that  the 
very  necessary  trial  by  torture  was  at  an  end.  And, 
blowing  triumphantly  upon  devil-horns  and  shaking 
devil-rattles,  they  carried  him  the  whole  length  of  the 
village  to  the  base  of  the  hill  where  the  Hot  Lodge  was. 

This  was  a  little  cave,  in  the  mouth  of  which  was  a 
spring,  said  to  be  very  full  of  Big  Medicine.  The  en 
trance  to  the  cave  was  closed  by  a  heavy  arras  of  bear 
skins,  three  or  four  thick,  and  the  ground  in  front  was 
thickly  strewn  with  round  and  flat  stones  cracked  and 
blackened  by  fire.  From  the  cave  to  the  fifteen-foot 
bluff  overhanging  a  deep  pool  of  the  river  the  ground 
was  level,  and  worn  in  a  smooth  band  eight  or  ten  feet 
wide  as  by  the  trampling  of  many  feet. 

Andramark,  stark  naked  and  still  bleeding  in  many 
places,  sat  cross-legged  in  the  cave,  at  the  very  rim  of 
the  medicine-spring.  His  head  hung  forward  on  his 
chest.  All  his  muscles  were  soft  and  relaxed.  After 
a  while  the  hangings  of  the  cave  entrance  were  drawn 
a  little  to  one  side  and  a  stone  plumped  into  the  spring 

293 


GROWING  UP 

with  a  savage  hiss;  another  followed — another — and 
another  and  another.  Steam  began  to  rise  from  the 
surface  of  the  spring,  little  bubbles  darted  up  from 
the  bottom  and  burst.  More  hot  stones  were  thrown 
into  the  water.  Steam,  soft  and  caressing,  filled  the 
cave.  The  temperature  rose  by  leaps  and  bounds. 
The  roots  of  Andramark's  hair  began  to  tickle — the 
tickling  became  unendurable,  and  ceased  suddenly  as 
the  sweat  burst  from  every  pore  of  his  body.  His  eyes 
closed;  in  his  heart  it  was  as  if  love-music  were  being 
played  upon  a  flute.  He  was  no  longer  conscious  of 
hunger  or  thirst.  He  yielded,  body  and  soul,  to  the 
sensuous  miracle  of  the  steam,  and  slept. 

He  was  awakened  by  many  shrill  voices  that  laughed 
and  dared  him  to  come  out. 

"It's  only  one  big  beating,"  he  said,  rose,  stepped 
over  the  spring,  pushed  through  the  bearskins,  and 
stood  gleaming  and  steaming  in  the  fading  light. 

The  gantlet  that  he  was  to  run  extended  from  the 
cave  to  the  bluff  overhanging  the  river.  He  looked 
the  length  of  the  double  row  of  grinning  women  and 
children — the  active  agents  in  what  was  to  come.  Back 
of  the  women  and  children  were  warriors  and  old  men, 
their  faces  relaxed  into  holiday  expressions.  Toward 
the  river  end  of  the  gauntlet  were  stationed  the  youngest, 
the  most  vigorous,  the  most  fun-loving  of  the  women, 
and  the  larger  boys,  with  only  a  negligible  sprinkling 
of  really  little  children.  Every  woman  and  child  in 

294 


GROWING  UP 

the  two  rows  was  armed  with  a  savage-looking  whip 
of  willow,  hickory,  or  even  green  brier,  and  the  still 
more  savage  intention  of  using  these  whips  to  the  ut 
most  extent  of  their  speed  and  accuracy  in  striking. 

Upon  a  signal  Andramark  darted  forward  and  was 
lost  in  a  whistling  smother.  It  was  as  if  an  untrimmed 
hedge  had  suddenly  gone  mad.  Andramark  made  the 
best  of  a  bad  business,  guarded  his  face  and  the  top  of 
his  head  with  his  arms,  ran  swiftly,  but  not  too  swiftly, 
and  kept  his  eyes  out  for  feet  that  were  thrust  forward 
to  trip  him. 

A  dozen  feet  ahead  he  saw  a  pair  of  little  moccasins 
that  were  familiar  to  him.  As  he  passed  them  he 
looked  into  their  owner's  face,  and  wondered  why,  of 
all  the  little  girls  in  the  village,  Tassel  Top  alone  did 
not  use  her  whip  on  him. 

At  last,  half  blinded,  lurching  as  he  ran,  he  came  to 
the  edge  of  the  bluff,  and  dived,  almost  without  a  splash, 
into  the  deep,  fresh  water.  The  cold  of  it  stung  his 
overheated,  bleeding  body  like  a  swarm  of  wild  bees, 
and  it  is  possible  that  when  he  reached  the  Canoe 
Beach  the  water  in  his  eyes  was  not  all  fresh.  Here, 
however,  smiling  chiefs  and  warriors  surrounded  the 
stoic,  and  welcomed  him  to  their  number  with  kind 
words  and  grunts  of  approval.  And  then,  because  he 
that  had  been  but  a  moment  before  a  naked  child  was 
now  a  naked  man,  and  no  fit  spectacle  for  women  and 

295 


GROWING  UP 

children,  they  formed  a  bright-colored  moving  screen 
about  him  and  conducted  him  to  the  great  council- 
lodge.  There  they  eased  his  wounds  with  pleasant 
greases,  and  dressed  him  in  softest  buckskin,  and  gave 
him  just  as  much  food  as  it  was  safe  for  him  to  eat — 
a  couple  of  quail  eggs  and  a  little  dish  of  corn  and  fresh 
water  mussels  baked. 

And  after  that  they  sent  him  home  armed  with  a 
big  stick.  And  there  was  his  mother,  squatting  on  the 
floor  of  their  lodge,  with  her  back  bared  in  readiness 
for  a  good  beating.  But  Andramark  closed  the  lodge- 
flaps,  and  dropped  his  big  stick,  and  began  to  blubber 
and  sob.  And  his  mother  leaped  up  and  caught  him 
in  her  arms;  and  then — once  a  mother,  always  tact 
ful — she  began  to  howl  and  yell,  just  as  if  she  were 
actually  receiving  the  ceremonial  beating  which  was  her 
due.  And  the  neighbors  pricked  up  their  ears  and 
chuckled,  and  said  the  Indian  for  "Squirrel  Eyes  is 
getting  what  was  coming  to  her." 

Maybe  Andramark  didn't  sleep  that  night,  and  may 
be  he  did.  And  all  the  dreams  that  he  dreamed  were 
pleasant,  and  he  got  the  best  of  everybody  in  them, 
and  he  woke  next  morning  to  a  pleasant  smell  of  broil 
ing  shad,  and  lay  on  his  back  blinking  and  yawning, 
and  wondering  why  of  all  the  little  girls  in  the  village 
Tassel  Top  alone  had  not  used  her  whip  on  him. 


296 


THE   BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

At  the  Palmetto  Golf  Club  one  bright,  warm  day 
in  January  they  held  a  tournament  which  came  to  be 
known  as  the  Battle  of  Aiken.  Colonel  Bogey,  how 
ever,  was  not  in  command. 

Each  contestant's  caddie  was  provided  with  a  stick 
cleft  at  one  end  and  pointed  at  the  other.  In  the  cleft 
was  stuck  a  square  of  white  card-board  on  which  was 
printed  the  contestant's  name,  Colonel  Bogey's  rec 
ord  for  the  course,  the  contestant's  handicap,  and  the 
sum  of  these  two.  Thus: 

A.  B.  Smith 
78+9=87 

And  the  winner  was  to  be  he  who  travelled  farthest 
around  the  links  in  the  number  of  strokes  allotted  to 
him. 

Old  Major  Jennings  did  not  understand,  and  Jimmy 
Traquair,  the  professional,  explained. 

"Do  you  know  what  the  bogey  for  the  course  is?" 
said  he.  "  It's  seventy-eight.  Do  you  know  what  your 
handicap  is  ?  It's  twenty." 

Old  Major  Jennings  winced  slightly.  His  handicap 
had  never  seemed  quite  adequate  to  him. 

299 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

"Well?  "he  said. 

"  Well,"  said  Jimmie,  who  ever  tempered  his  speech 
to  his  hearer's  understanding,  "what's  twenty  added 
to  seventy-eight?" 

"Eighty-eight — ninety-eight,"  said  old  Major  Jen 
nings  (but  not  conceitedly). 

"  Right,"  said  Jimmie.  "  Well,  you  start  at  the  first 
tee  and  play  ninety-eight  strokes.  Where  the  ball  lies 
after  the  ninety-eighth,  you  plant  the  card  with  your 
name  on  it.  And  that's  all." 

"'Suppose  after  my  ninety-eighth  stroke  that  my 
ball  lies  in  the  pond  ? "  said  old  Major  Jennings  with 
a  certain  timid  conviction.  The  pond  hole  is  only  the 
twelfth,  and  Jimmie  wanted  to  laugh,  but  did  not. 

"  If  that  happens,"  he  said,  "  you'll  have  to  report  it, 
I'm  afraid,  to  the  Green  Committee.  Who  are  you 
going  around  with?" 

"  I  haven't  got  anybody  to  go  around  with,"  said  the 
major.  "  I  didn't  know  there  was  going  to  be  a  tourna 
ment  till  it  was  too  late  to  ask  any  one  to  play  with  me." 

This  conversation  took  place  in  the  new  shop,  a 
place  all  windows,  sunshine,  labels,  varnishes,  vises, 
files,  grips,  and  clubs  of  exquisite  workmanship.  At 
one  of  the  benches  a  grave-eyed  young  negro,  aproned 
and  concentrated,  was  enamelling  the  head  of  a  driver 
with  shellac.  Sudden  cannon  fire  would  not  have 
shaken  his  hand.  In  one  corner  a  rosy  lad  with  curly 

300 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

yellow  hair  dangled  his  legs  from  the  height  of  a  pack 
ing-case  and  chewed  gum.  He  had  been  born  with  a 
golden  spoon  in  his  mouth,  and  was  learning  golf  from 
the  inside.  Sometimes  he  winked  with  one  eye.  But 
these  silent  comments  were  hidden  from  the  major. 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  tournament,"  said  the  latter, 
his  loose  lip  trembling  slightly.  "I'll  just  practice  a 
little." 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  sir,"  said  Jimmie  sympathet 
ically;  "  General  Bullwigg  hasn't  any  one  to  go  around 
with  either.  And  if  you  don't  mind " 

"Bullwigg,"  said  the  major  vaguely;  "I  used  to 
know  a  Bullwigg." 

"  He's  a  very  fine  gentleman  indeed,  sir,"  said  Jim 
mie.  "Same  handicap  as  yourself,  sir,  and  if  you 
don't  mind " 

"Where  is  he  from?"  asked  the  major. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  Mr.  Bowers  extended  the  privi 
leges  of  the  club  to  him.  He's  stopping  at  the  Park 
in  the  Pines." 

"Oh!"  said  the  major,  and  then  with  a  certain 
dignity  and  resolution:  "If  Mr.  Bowers  knows  him, 
and  if  he  doesn't  mind,  I'm  sure  I  don't.  Is  he  here  ?  " 

"He's  waiting  at  the  first  tee,"  said  Jimmie,  and 
he  averted  his  face. 

At  the  first  tee  old  Major  Jennings  found  a  portly, 
red-faced  gentleman,  with  fierce,  bushy  eyebrows,  who 

301 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

seemed  prepared  to  play  golf  under  any  condition 
of  circumstance  and  weather.  He  had  two  caddies. 
One  carried  a  monstrous  bag,  which,  in  addition  to 
twice  the  usual  number  of  clubs,  contained  a  crook- 
handled  walking-stick  and  a  crook-handled  umbrella; 
the  other  carried  over  his  right  arm  a  greatcoat,  in 
case  the  June-like  weather  should  turn  cold,  and  over 
his  left  a  mackintosh,  in  case  rain  should  fall  from  the 
cloudless,  azure  heavens.  The  gentleman  himself  was 
swinging  a  wooden  club,  with  pudgy  vehemence,  at 
an  imaginary  ball.  Upon  his  countenance  was  that 
expression  of  fortitude  which  wins  battles  and  cham 
pionships.  Old  Major  Jennings  approached  timidly. 
He  was  very  shy.  In  the  distance  he  saw  two  of  his 
intimate  friends  finishing  out  the  first  hole.  Except 
for  himself  and  the  well-prepared  stranger  they  had 
been  the  last  pair  to  start,  and  the  old  major's  pale 
blue  eyes  clung  to  them  as  those  of  a  shipwrecked  mar 
iner  may  cling  to  ships  upon  the  horizon.  Then  he 
pulled  himself  together  and  said: 

"General  Bullwigg,  I  presume." 

"The  very  man,"  said  the  general,  and  the  two 
gentlemen  lifted  their  plaid  golfing  caps  and  bowed 
to  each  other.  Owing  to  extreme  diffidence,  Major 
Jennings  did  not  volunteer  his  own  name;  owing  to  the 
fact  that  he  seldom  thought  of  anything  but  himself, 
General  Bullwigg  did  not  ask  it. 

302 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

Major  Jennings  was  impatient  to  be  off,  but  it  was 
General  Bullwigg's  honor,  and  he  could  not  compel 
that  gentleman  to  drive  until  he  was  quite  ready. 
General  Bullwigg  apostrophized  the  weather  and  the 
links.  He  spoke  at  some  length  of  "  My  game,"  "  My 
swing,"  "My  wrist  motion,"  "My  notion  of  getting 
out  of  a  bunker."  He  told  an  anecdote  which  re 
minded  him  of  another.  He  touched  briefly  upon  the 
manufacture  of  balls,  the  principle  of  imparting  pure 
back-spin;  the  best  seed  for  Northern  greens,  the  best 
sand  for  Southern.  And  then,  by  way  of  adding  insult 
to  injury,  he  stepped  up  to  his  ball  and,  with  due  con 
sideration  for  his  age  and  stomach,  drove  it  far  and 
straight. 

"Fine  shot,  sir,"  was  Major  Jennings's  comment. 

"I've  seen  better,  sir,"  said  General  Bullwigg. 
"But  I  won't  take  it  over." 

Major  Jennings  teed  up  his  ball,  and  addressed  it, 
and  waggled,  and  shifted  his  feet,  and  had  just  re 
ceived  that  sudden  inner  knowledge  that  the  time  was 
come  to  strike,  when  General  Bullwigg  interrupted 
him. 

"My  first  visit  to  Aiken,"  said  he,  "was  in  the  60's. 
But  that  was  no  visit  of  pleasure.  No,  sir.  Along 
the  brow  of  this  hill  upon  which  we  are  standing  was 
an  earthwork.  In  the  pines  yonder,  back  of  the  first 
green,  was  a  battery.  In  those  days  we  did  not  fight 

303 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

it  out  with  the  pacific  putter,  but  with  bullets  and 
bayonets." 

"Were  you  in  the  battle  of  Aiken?"  asked  the  ma 
jor,  so  quietly  as  to  make  the  question  sound  purely 
perfunctory. 

General  Bullwigg  laughed,  as  strong  men  laugh,  from 
the  stomach,  and  with  a  sweeping  gesture  of  his  left 
hand  appeared  to  dismiss  a  hundred  flatterers. 

"  I  have  heard  men  say,"  said  he,  "  that  I  was  the 
battle  of  Aiken." 

With  an  involuntary  shudder  Major  Jennings  has 
tily  addressed  his  ball,  swung  jerkily,  and  topped  it 
feebly  down  the  hill.  Then,  smiling  a  sickly  smile, 
he  said: 

"We're  off." 

"Get  a  good  one?"  asked  General  Bullwigg.  "I 
wasn't  looking." 

"Not  a  very  good  one,"  said  Major  Jennings,  in 
wardly  writhing,  "but  straight — perfectly  straight. 
A  little  on  top." 

They  sagged  down  the  hill,  the  major  in  a  pained 
silence,  the  general  describing,  with  sweeping  gest 
ures,  the  positions  of  the  various  troops  among  the 
surrounding  hills  at  the  beginning  of  the  battle  of 
Aiken. 

"  In  those  days,"  he  went  on,  "  I  was  second  lieuten 
ant  in  the  gallant  Twenty-ninth;  but  it  often  happens 

304 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

that  a  young  man  has  an  old  head  on  his  shoulders, 
and  as  one  after  the  other  of  my  superior  officers — 
superior  in  rank — bit  the  dust —  That  ball  is  badly 
cupped.  You  will  hardly  get  it  away  with  a  brassy; 
if  I  were  you  I  should  play  my  niblick.  Well  out,  sir! 
A  fine  recovery!  On  this  very  spot  I  saw  a  bomb 
burst.  The  air  was  filled  with  arms  and  legs.  It 
seemed  as  if  they  would  never  come  down.  I  shall 
play  my  brassy  spoon,  Purnell,  the  one  with  the  yellow 
head.  I  see  you  don't  carry  a  spoon.  Most  invalu 
able  club.  There  are  days  when  I  can  do  anything 
with  a  spoon.  I  used  to  own  one  of  which  I  often 
said  that  it  could  do  anything  but  talk." 

Major  Jennings  shuddered  as  if  he  were  very  cold; 
while  General  Bullwigg  swung  his  spoon  and  made 
another  fine  shot.  He  had  a  perfect  four  for  the  first 
hole,  to  Major  Jennings's  imperfect  and  doddering 
seven. 

"The  enemy,"  said  General  Bullwigg,  "had  a 
breastwork  of  pine  logs  all  along  this  line.  I  remem 
ber  the  general  said  to  me:  'Bullwigg/  he  said,  'to 
get  them  out  of  that  timber  is  like  getting  rats  out  of 
the  walls  of  a  house.'  And  I  said :  '  General ' ' 

"  It's  your  honor,"  the  major  interrupted  mildly. 

But  General  Bullwigg  would  not  drive  until  he  had 
brought  his  anecdote  to  a  self-laudatory  end.  And 
his  ball  was  not  half  through  its  course  before  he 
had  begun  another.  The  major,  compelled  to  listen, 

305 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

again  foozled,  and  a  dull  red  began  to  mantle  his  whole 
face.  And  in  his  peaceful  and  affable  heart  there 
waxed  a  sullen,  feverish  rage  against  his  companion. 

The  battle  of  Aiken  was  on. 

Sing,  O  chaste  and  reluctant  Muse,  the  battle  of 
Aiken!  Only  don't  sing  it!  State  it,  as  is  the  fashion 
of  our  glorious  times,  in  humble  and  perishable  prose. 
Fling  grammar  of  which  nothing  is  now  known  to  the 
demnition  bow-wows,  and  state  how  in  the  beginning 
General  Bullwigg  had  an  advantage  of  many  strokes, 
not  wasted,  over  his  self-effacing  companion.  State 
how,  because  of  the  general's  incessant  chatter,  the 
gentle  and  gallant  major  foozled  shot  after  shot;  how 
once  his  ball  hid  in  a  jasmine  bower,  once  behind  the 
stem  of  a  tree,  and  once  in  a  sort  of  cavern  over  which 
the  broom  straw  waved.  But  omit  not,  O  truthful 
and  ecstatic  one,  to  mention  that  dull  rage  which 
grew  from  small  beginnings  in  the  major's  breast  until 
it  became  furious  and  all-consuming,  like  a  prairie  fire. 
At  this  stage  your  narrative  becomes  heroic,  and  it 
might  be  in  order  for  you,  O  capable  and  delectable 
one,  to  switch  from  humble  stating  to  loud  singing. 
Only  don't  do  it.  State  on.  State  how  the  rage  into 
which  he  had  fallen  served  to  lend  precision  to  the 
major's  eye,  steel  to  his  wrist,  rhythm  to  his  tempo,  and 
fiery  ambition  to  his  gentle  and  retiring  soul.  He  is 
filled  with  memories  of  daring:  of  other  battles  in  other 
days.  He  remembers  what  times  he  sought  the  bubble 

306 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

reputation  in  the  cannon's  mouth,  and  spiked  the 
aforementioned  cannon's  touch-hole  into  the  bargain. 
And  he  remembers  the  greater  war  that  he  fought  single- 
handed  for  a  number  of  years  against  the  demon  rum. 

State,  too,  exquisite  Parnassian,  and  keep  stating, 
how  that  General  Bullwigg  did  incessantly  talk,  prat 
tle,  jabber,  joke,  boast,  praise  himself,  stand  in  the 
wrong  place,  and  rehearse  the  noble  deeds  that  he 
himself  had  performed  in  the  first  battle  of  Aiken.  And 
state  how  the  major  answered  him  less  and  less  fre 
quently,  but  more  and  more  loudly  and  curtly — but  I 
see  that  you  are  exhausted,  and,  thanking  you  kindly, 
I  shall  resume  the  narrative  myself. 

They  came  to  the  pond  hole,  which  was  the  twelfth; 
the  general,  still  upon  his  interminable  reminiscences 
of  his  own  military  glory,  stood  up  to  drive,  and  was 
visited  by  his  first  real  disaster.  He  swung — and  he 
looked  up.  His  ball,  beaten  downward  into  the  hard 
clay  tee,  leaped  forward  with  a  sound  as  of  a  stone 
breaking  in  two  and  dove  swiftly  into  the  centre  of  the 
pond.  The  major  spoke  never  a  word.  For  the  first 
time  during  the  long  dreary  round  his  risibles  were 
tickled  and  he  wanted  to  laugh.  Instead  he  concen 
trated  all  his  faculties  upon  his  ball  and  made  a  fine 
drive. 

Not  so  the  general  with  his  second  attempt.  Again 
he  found  water,  and  fell  into  a  panic  at  the  sudden  los- 

307 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

ing  of  so  many  invaluable  strokes  (not  to  mention  two 
brand-new  balls  at  seventy-five  cents  each). 

It  was  at  the  pond  hole  that  the  major's  luck  began 
to  ameliorate.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  made  it 
in  three — a  long  approach  close  to  the  green;  a  short 
mashie  shot  that  trickled  into  the  very  cup.  And  it 
was  at  the  pond  hole  that  the  general,  who  had  hith 
erto  played  far  above  his  ordinary  form,  began  to  go 
to  pieces.  He  was  a  little  dashed  in  spirit,  but  not 
in  eloquence. 

Going  to  the  long  fourteenth,  they  found  the  first 
evidence  of  those  who  had  gone  before.  In  the  very 
midst  of  the  fair  green  they  saw,  shining  afar,  like  a 
white  tombstone,  stuck  in  its  cleft  stick,  the  card  of 
the  first  competitor  to  use  up  the  whole  of  his  allotted 
strokes.  They  paused  a  moment  to  read: 

Sacred  to  the  Memory  of 
W.  H.  Lands 

78+6=84 

Who  Sliced  Himself 

to  Pieces 

Forty  yards  beyond,  another  obituary  confronted 

them: 

In  Loving  Memory  of 

J.  C.  Nappin 

78+10=88 

Died  of  a  Broken  Mashie 
And  of  Such  is  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven 

308 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

"Ha!"  said  General  Bullwigg.  "He  little  realizes 
that  here  where  he  has  pinned  his  little  joke  in  the  lap 
of  mother  earth  I  have  seen  the  dead  men  lie  as  thick 
as  kindlings  in  a  wood-yard.  Sir,  across  this  very  fair 
green  there  were  no  less  than  three  desperate  charges, 
unremembered  and  unsung,  of  which  I  may  say  with 
out  boasting  that  Magna  Pars  Fui.  But  for  the  des 
peration  of  our  last  charge  the  battle  must  have  been 

lost " 

Damn  the  memory  of 

E.  Hewett 

78+10=88 

Couldn't  Put 

Here  Lies 

G.  Norris 

78+10=88 

A  Fool  and  His  Money  Are  Soon  Parted 

The  little  tombstones  came  thick  and  fast  now.  The 
fairway  to  the  seventeenth,  most  excellent  of  all  four- 
shot  holes,  was  dotted  with  them,  and  it  actually  be 
gan  to  look  as  if  General  Bullwigg  or  Major  Jennings 
(they  were  now  on  even  terms)  might  be  the  winner. 

It  was  that  psychological  moment  when  of  all  things 
a  contestant  most  desires  silence.  Major  Jennings  was 
determined  to  triumph  over  his  boastful  companion. 
And  he  was  full  of  courage  and  resolve.  They  had 
reached  the  seventeenth  green  in  the  same  number  of 
strokes  from  the  first  tee.  That  is  to  say,  each  had 

309 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

used  up  ninety-five  of  his  allotted  ninety-eight.  Nei 
ther  holed  his  approach  put,  and  the  match,  so  far 
as  they  two  were  concerned,  resolved  itself  into  a  driv 
ing  contest.  If  General  Bullwigg  drove  the  farther 
with  his  one  remaining  stroke  he  would  beat  the  major, 
and  vice  versa.  As  for  the  other  competitors,  there 
was  but  one  who  had  reached  the  eighteenth  tee,  and 
he,  as  his  tombstone  showed,  had  played  his  last  stroke 
neither  far  nor  well. 

For  the  major  the  suspense  was  terrible.  He  had 
never  won  a  tournament.  He  had  never  had  so  golden 
an  opportunity  to  down  a  boaster.  But  it  was  Gen 
eral  Bullwigg's  honor,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  the 
time  was  riper  for  talk  than  play. 

"  You  may  think  that  I  am  nervous,"  he  said.  "  But 
I  am  not.  During  one  period  of  the  battle  of  Aiken 
the  firing  between  ourselves  on  this  spot  and  the  en 
emy  intrenched  where  the  club-house  now  stands,  and 
spreading  right  and  left  in  a  half-moon,  was  fast  and 
furious.  Once  they  charged  up  to  our  guns;  but  we 
drove  them  back,  and  after  that  charge  yonder  fair 
green  was  one  infernal  shambles  of  dead  and  dying. 
Among  the  wounded  was  one  of  the  enemy's  general 
officers;  he  whipped  and  thrashed  and  squirmed  like 
a  newly  landed  fish  and  screamed  for  water.  It  was 
terrible;  it  was  unendurable.  Next  to  me  in  the  trench 

was  a  young  fellow  named — named  Jennings " 

310 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

"Jennings?"  said  the  major  breathlessly.  "And 
what  did  he  do?" 

"  He,"  said  General  Bullwigg.  "  Nothing.  He  said, 
however,  and  he  was  careful  not  to  show  his  head 
above  the  top  of  the  trench:  'I  can't  stand  this/  he 
said;  'somebody's  got  to  bring  that  poor  fellow  in.' 
As  for  me,  I  only  needed  the  suggestion.  I  jumped 
out  of  the  trench  and  ran  forward,  exposing  myself  to 
the  fire  of  both  armies.  When,  however,  I  reached 
the  general  officer,  and  my  purpose  was  plain,  the  fir 
ing  ceased  upon  both  sides,  and  the  enemy  stood  up 
and  cheered  me." 

General  Bullwigg  teed  his  ball  and  drove  it  far. 

Major  Jennings  bit  his  lip;  it  was  hardly  within  his 
ability  to  hit  so  long  a  ball. 

"This — er — Jennings,"  said  he,  "seems  to  have 
been  a  coward." 

General  Bullwigg  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Have  I  got  it  straight?"  asked  Major  Jennings. 
"It  was  you  who  brought  in  the  general  officer,  and 
not — er — this — er — Jennings  who  did  it?" 

"  I  thought  I  had  made  it  clear,"  said  General  Bull 
wigg  stiffly.  And  he  repeated  the  anecdote  from  the 
beginning.  Major  Jennings's  comment  was  simply 
this: 

"So  that  was  the  way  of  it,  was  it?" 

A  deep  crimson  suffused  him.  He  looked  as  if  he 
311 


THE  BATTLE  OF  AIKEN 

were  going  to  burst.  He  teed  his  ball.  He  trembled. 
He  addressed.  He  swung  back,  and  then  with  all  the 
rage,  indignation,  and  accuracy  of  which  he  was  capa 
ble — forward.  It  was  the  longest  drive  he  had  ever 
made.  His  ball  lay  a  good  yard  beyond  the  General's. 
He  had  beaten  all  competitors,  but  that  was  nothing. 
He  had  beaten  his  companion,  and  that  was  worth 
more  to  him  than  all  the  wealth  of  Ormuzd  and  of  Ind. 
He  had  won  the  second  battle  of  Aiken. 

In  silence  he  took  his  tombstone  from  his  caddie's 
hand,  in  silence  wrote  upon  it,  in  silence  planted  it 
where  his  ball  had  stopped.  General  Bullwigg  bent 
himself  stiffly  to  see  what  the  fortunate  winner  had 
written.  And  this  was  what  he  read: 

Sacred  to  the  Memory  of 
E.  O.  Jennings 

78+20=98 

Late  Major  in  the  Gallant  29th,  Talked  to 
Death  by  a  Liar 

As  for  the  gallant  major  (still  far  from  mollified), 
he  turned  his  back  upon  a  foe  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  and  made  off — almost  running. 


312 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

"  It's  real  country  out  there,"  Fannie  Davis  had  said. 
"Buttercups  and  daisies.  Come  on,  Lila!  I  won't 
go  if  you  won't." 

This  sudden  demonstration  of  friendship  was  too 
much  for  Lila.  She  forgot  that  she  had  no  stylish 
dress  for  the  occasion,  or  that  her  mother  could  not 
very  well  spare  her  for  a  whole  day,  and  she  promised 
to  be  ready  at  nine  o'clock  on  the  following  Sunday 
morning. 

"  Fannie  Davis,"  she  explained  to  her  mother,  "  has 
asked  me  to  go  out  to  Pelham  Bay  Park  with  her  Sun 
day.  And  finally  I  said  I  would.  I  feel  sometimes 
as  if  I'd  blow  up  if  I  didn't  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air 
after  all  this  hot  spell." 

She  set  her  pretty  mouth  defiantly.  She  expected 
an  argument.  But  her  mother  only  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  said, 

"  We  could  make  your  blue  dress  look  real  nice  with 
a  few  trimmings." 

They  discussed  ways  and  means  until  long  after 
the  younger  children  were  in  bed  and  asleep. 

By  Saturday  night  the  dress  was  ready,  and  Lila 
had  turned  her  week's  wages  back  into  the  coffers  of 

315 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

the  department  store  where  she  worked  in  exchange 
for  a  pair  of  near-silk  brown  stockings  and  a  pair  of 
stylish  oxford  ties  of  patent  leather. 

"You  look  like  a  show-girl,"  was  Fannie's  enthusi 
astic  comment.  "I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  of  you. 
Why,  Lila,  you're  a  regular  little  peach!" 

Lila  became  crimson  with  joy. 

They  boarded  the  subway  for  Simpson  Street.  The 
atmosphere  was  hot  and  rancid.  The  two  girls  found 
standing-room  only.  Whenever  the  express  curved 
they  were  thrown  violently  from  one  side  of  the  car  to 
the  other.  A  young  man  who  stood  near  them  made  a 
point  on  these  occasions  of  laying  a  hand  on  Lila's 
waist  to  steady  her.  She  didn't  know  whether  it  was 
proper  to  be  angry  or  grateful. 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,"  said  Fannie; 
"  he's  just  trying  to  be  fresh,  and  he  doesn't  know  how." 

She  said  it  loud  enough  for  the  young  man  to  hear. 
Lila  was  very  much  frightened. 

They  left  the  subway  at  Simpson  Street  and  boarded 
a  jammed  trolley-car  for  Westchester.  Fannie  paid 
all  the  fares. 

"It's  my  treat,"  she  said;  "I'm  flush.  Gee,  ain't 
it  hot!  I  wish  we'd  brought  our  bathing-suits." 

Much  to  Lila's  relief  the  young  man  who  had  an 
noyed  her  was  no  longer  visible.  Fannie  talked  all 
the  way  to  Westchester  in  so  loud  a  voice  that  nearly 

316 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

everybody  in  the  car  could  hear  her.  Lila  was 
shocked  and  awed  by  her  friend's  showiness  and  indif 
ference. 

From  Westchester  they  were  to  walk  the  two  hot 
miles  to  the  park.  Already  Lila's  new  shoes  had  blis 
tered  her  feet.  But  she  did  not  mention  this.  It  was 
her  own  fault.  She  had  deliberately  bought  shoes 
that  were  half  a  size  too  small. 

In  the  main  street  of  Westchester  they  prinked, 
smoothing  each  other's  rumpled  dresses  and  straight 
ening  each  other's  peach-basket  hats. 

"Lila,"  said  Fannie,  "everybody's  looking  at  you. 
I  say  you're  too  pretty.  Lucky  for  me  I've  got  my 
young  man  where  I  want  him,  or  else  you'd  take  him 
away  from  me." 

"I  would  not!"  exclaimed  Lila,  "and  it's  you  they're 
looking  at." 

Fannie  was  delighted.  "Do  I  look  nice?"  she 
wheedled. 

"You  look  sweet!" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Fannie  looked  bold  and  hand 
some.  Her  clothes  were  too  expensive  for  her  station 
in  life.  Her  mother  suspected  how  she  came  by  them, 
but  was  so  afraid  of  actually  knowing  that  she  never 
brought  the  point  to  an  issue;  only  sighed  in  secret 
and  tried  not  to  see  or  understand. 

Now  and  then  motors  passed  through  the  crowds 
317 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

straggling  to  the  park,  and  in  exchange  for  gratuitous 
insults  from  small  boys  and  girls  left  behind  them  long 
trails  of  thick  dust  and  the  choking  smell  of  burnt  gaso 
line.  In  the  sun  the  mercury  was  at  one  hundred  and 
twenty  degrees. 

"There's  a  hog  for  you,"  exclaimed  Fannie.  She 
indicated  a  stout  man  in  shirt-sleeves.  He  had  his 
coat  over  one  arm,  his  collar  and  necktie  protruding 
from  the  breast  pocket.  His  wife,  a  meagre  woman, 
panted  at  his  side.  She  carried  two  heavy  children, 
one  of  them  not  yet  born. 

Half  the  people  carried  paper  parcels  or  little  suit 
cases  made  of  straw  in  which  were  bathing-suits  and 
sandwiches.  It  would  be  low  tide,  but  between  float 
ing  islands  of  swill  and  sewage  there  would  be  water, 
salt,  wet,  and  cool. 

"My  mother,"  said  Fannie,  "doesn't  like  me  to 
come  to  these  places  alone.  It's  a  real  nice  crowd  uses 
Pelham  Park,  but  there's  always  a  sprinkling  of 
freshies." 

"  Is  that  why  you  invited  me  ?  "  said  Lila  gayly.  In 
wardly  she  flattered  herself  to  think  that  she  had  been 
asked  for  herself  alone.  But  Fannie's  answer  had  in  it 
something  of  a  slap  in  the  face. 

"  Well,"  said  this  one,  "  mother  forbade  me  to  come 
alone.  But  I  do  want  to  get  better  acquainted  with 
you.  Honest." 

318 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

They  rested  for  a  while  sitting  on  a  stone  wall  in  the 
shade  of  a  tree. 

"  My  mother,"  said  Fannie  grandly,  "  thinks  every 
body's  rotten,  including  me.  My  God!"  she  went  on 
angrily, "  do  me  and  you  work  six  days  of  the  week  only 
to  be  bossed  about  on  the  seventh  ?  I  tell  you  I  won't 
stand  it  much  longer.  I'm  going  to  cut  loose.  Noth 
ing  but  work,  work,  work,  and  scold,  scold,  scold." 

"  If  I  had  all  the  pretty  things  you've  got,"  said  Lila 
gently,  "  I  don't  believe  I'd  complain." 

Fannie  blushed.  "It's  hard  work  and  skimping 
does  it,"  she  said.  "  Ever  think  of  marrying,  kid  ?  " 

Lila  admitted  that  she  had. 

"Got  a  beau?" 

Lila  blushed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  You  have,  too.     Own  up.     What's  he  like  ?  " 

Lila  continued  to  deny  and  protest.  But  she  enjoyed 
being  teased  upon  such  a  subject. 

"  Well,  if  you  haven't,"  said  Fannie  at  last,  "  I  have. 
It's  a  dead  secret,  kid.  I  wouldn't  tell  a  soul  but  you. 
He's  got  heaps  of  money,  and  he's  been  after  me — to 
marry  him — for  nearly  a  year." 

"Do  you  like  him?" 

"  I'm  just  crazy  about  him." 

"Then  why  don't  you  marry  him?" 

"Well,"  Fannie  temporized,  "you  never  want  to  be 
in  a  rush  about  these  things." 

319 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

Fannie  sighed,  and  was  silent.  She  might  have 
married  the  young  man  in  question  if  she  had  played 
her  cards  better.  And  she  knew  it,  now  that  it  was 
too  late,  and  there  could  not  be  a  new  deal.  He  had 
wanted  her,  even  at  the  price  of  marriage.  He  was 
still  fond  of  her.  And  he  was  very  generous  with  his 
money.  She  met  him  whenever  she  could.  He  would 
be  waiting  for  her  now  at  the  entrance  to  the  park. 

"He's  got  a  motor-boat,"  she  explained  to  Lila, 
"that  he  wants  to  show  me.  She's  a  cabin  launch, 
almost  new.  You  won't  mind  ?  " 

"Mind?  Are  you  going  out  for  a  sail  with  him, 
and  leave  me?" 

"  Well,  the  truth  is,"  said  Fannie,  "  I've  just  about 
made  up  my  mind  to  say  yes,  and  of  course  if  there  was 
a  third  party  around  he  couldn't  bring  the  matter  up, 
could  he  ?  We  wouldn't  be  out  long." 

"Don't  mind  me,"  said  Lila.  Inwardly  she  was 
terribly  hurt  and  disappointed.  "I'll  just  sit  in  the 
shade  and  wish  you  joy." 

"  I  wouldn't  play  it  so  low  down  on  you,"  said  Fan 
nie,  "only  my  whole  future's  mixed  up  in  it.  We'll 
be  back  in  lots  of  time  to  eat." 

Lila  walked  with  them  to  the  end  of  the  pier  at  the 
bathing-beach.  The  water  was  full  of  people  and 
rubbish.  The  former  seemed  to  be  enjoying  them 
selves  immensely  and  for  the  most  part  innocently, 

320 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

though  now  and  then  some  young  girl  would  shriek 
aloud  in  a  sort  of  delighted  terror  as  her  best  young 
man,  swimming  under  water,  tugged  suddenly  at  her 
bathing-skirt  or  pinched  the  calf  of  her  leg. 

Lila  watched  Fannie  and  her  young  man  embark  in 
a  tiny  rowboat  and  row  out  to  a  clumsy  cabin  cat- 
boat  from  which  the  mast  had  been  removed  and  in 
whose  cockpit  a  low-power,  loud-popping  motor  had 
been  installed.  The  young  man  started  the  motor, 
and  presently  his  clumsy  craft  was  dragging  herself, 
like  a  crippled  duck,  down  Pelham  Bay  toward  the 
more  open  water  of  Long  Island  Sound. 

Lila  felt  herself  abandoned.  She  would  have  gone 
straight  home  but  for  the  long  walk  to  Westchester 
and  the  fact  that  she  had  no  car  fare.  She  could  have 
cried.  The  heat  on  the  end  of  the  dock  and  the  glare 
from  the  water  were  intolerable.  She  was  already  faint 
with  hunger,  and  her  shoes  pinched  her  so  that  she 
could  hardly  walk  without  whimpering.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  she  had  never  seen  so  many  people  at  once. 
And  in  all  the  crowds  she  hadn't  a  single  friend  or  ac 
quaintance.  Several  men,  seeing  that  she  was  with 
out  male  escort,  tried  to  get  to  know  her,  but  gave 
up,  discouraged  by  her  shy,  frightened  face.  She  was 
pretty,  yes.  But  a  doll.  No  sport  in  her.  Such  was 
their  mental  attitude. 

"She  might  have  left  me  the  sandwiches,"  thought 
Lila.  "Suppose  the  motor  breaks  down!" 

321 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

Which  was  just  what  it  was  going  to  do — 'way  out 
there  in  the  sound.  It  always  did  sooner  or  later  when 
Fannie  was  on  board.  She  seemed  to  have  been  born 
with  an  influence  for  evil  over  men  and  gas-engines. 

At  the  other  side  of  green  lawns  on  which  were  a 
running-track,  swings,  trapezes,  parallel  bars,  and  a 
ball-field,  were  woods.  The  shade,  from  where  she 
was,  looked  black  and  cold.  She  walked  slowly  and 
timidly  toward  it.  She  could  cool  herself  and  return 
in  time  to  meet  Fannie.  But  she  returned  sooner  than 
she  had  expected. 

She  found  a  smooth  stone  in  the  woods  and  sat 
down.  After  the  sun  there  was  a  certain  coolness. 
She  fanned  herself  with  some  leaves.  They  were  poi 
son-ivy,  but  she  did  not  know  that.  The  perspiration 
dried  on  her  face.  There  were  curious  whining,  hum 
ming  sounds  in  the  woods.  She  began  to  scratch  her 
ankles  and  wrists.  Her  ankles  especially  tickled  and 
itched  to  the  point  of  anguish.  She  was  the  delight 
ful  centre  of  interest  to  a  swarm  of  hungry  mosquitoes. 
She  leaped  to  her  feet  and  fought  them  wildly  with  her 
branch  of  poison-ivy.  Then  she  started  to  run  and 
almost  stepped  on  a  man  who  was  lying  face  up  in  the 
underwood,  peacefully  snoring.  She  screamed  faintly 
and  hurried  on.  Some  of  the  bolder  mosquitoes  fol 
lowed  her  into  the  sunlight,  but  it  was  too  hot  even  for 
them,  and  one  by  one  they  dropped  behind  and  re 
turned  to  the  woods.  The  drunken  man  continued 

322 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

his  comfortable  sleep.     The  mosquitoes  did  not  trouble 
him.     It  is  unknown  why. 

Lila  returned  to  the  end  of  the  dock  and  saw  far  off 
a  white  speck  that  may  or  may  not  have  been  the 
motor-boat  in  which  Fannie  had  gone  for  a  "sail." 

If  there  hadn't  been  so  many  people  about  Lila 
must  have  sat  down  and  cried.  The  warmth  of  affec 
tion  which  she  had  felt  that  morning  for  Fannie  had 
changed  into  hatred.  Three  times  she  returned  to  the 
end  of  the  dock. 

All  over  the  park  were  groups  of  people  eating  sand 
wiches  and  hard-boiled  eggs.  They  shouted  and  joked. 
Under  certain  circumstances,  not  the  least  of  sports  is 
eating.  Lila  was  so  angry  and  hungry  and  abused 
that  she  forgot  her  sore  feet.  She  couldn't  stay  still. 
She  must  have  walked — coming  and  going — a  good 
many  miles  in  all. 

At  last,  exhausted  as  she  had  never  been  even  after 
a  day  at  the  department  store  during  the  Christmas 
rush,  she  found  a  deep  niche  between  two  rough  rocks 
on  the  beach,  over  which  the  tide  was  now  gently  rising, 
and  sank  into  it.  The  rocks  and  the  sand  between  them 
gave  out  coolness;  the  sun  shone  on  her  head  and 
shoulders,  but  with  less  than  its  meridianal  fury.  She 
could  look  down  Pelham  Bay  and  see  most  of  the  waters 
between  Fort  Schuyler  and  City  Island.  Boats  of  all 
sorts  and  descriptions  came  and  went.  But  there  was 
no  sign  of  that  in  which  Fannie  had  embarked. 

323 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

Lila  fell  asleep.  It  became  quiet  in  the  park.  The 
people  were  dragging  themselves  wearily  home,  dis 
hevelled,  dirty,  sour  with  sweat.  The  sun  went  down, 
copper-red  and  sullen.  The  trunks  of  trees  showed 
ebony  black  against  it,  swarms  of  infinitesimal  gnats 
rose  from  the  beaches,  and  made  life  hideous  to  the 
stragglers  still  in  the  park. 

Lila  was  awakened  by  the  tide  wetting  her  feet.  She 
rose  on  stiff,  aching  legs.  There  was  a  kink  in  her 
back;  one  arm,  against  which  she  had  rested  heavily, 
was  asleep. 

"Fannie,"  Lila  thought  with  a  kind  of  falling  de 
spair,  "  must  have  come  back,  looked  for  me,  given  me 
up,  and  gone  home." 

In  the  midst  of  Pelham  Bay  a  fire  twinkled,  burn 
ing  low.  It  looked  like  a  camp-fire  deserted  and  dying 
in  the  centre  of  a  great  open  plain.  Lila  gave  it  no 
more  than  a  somnambulant  look.  It  told  her  nothing: 
no  story  of  sudden  frenzied  terror,  of  inextinguishable, 
unescapable  flames,  of  young  people  in  the  midst  of 
health  and  the  vain  and  wicked  pursuit  of  happiness, 
half-burned  to  death,  half-drowned.  It  told  her  no 
story  of  guilt  providentially  punished,  or  accidentally. 

She  had  slept  through  all  the  shouting  and  scream 
ing.  The  boats  that  had  attempted  rescue  had  with 
drawn;  there  remained  only  the  hull  of  a  converted 
catboat,  gasoline-soaked,  burnt  to  the  water's  edge,  a 
cinder — still  smouldering. 

324 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

Somewhere  under  the  placid  waters,  gathering  speed 
in  the  tidal  currents,  slowing  down  and  swinging  in 
the  eddies,  was  all  that  remained  of  Fannie  Davis, 
food  for  crabs,  eels,  dogfish,  lobsters,  and  all  the  thou 
sand  and  one  scavengers  of  Atlantic  bays,  blackened 
shreds  of  garments  still  clinging  to  her. 


II 


Next  to  Pelham  Bay  Park  toward  the  south  is  a 
handsome  private  property.  On  the  low  boundary 
wall  of  this,  facing  the  road  and  directly  under  a  ragged 
cherry-tree,  Lila  seated  herself.  She  was  "all  in." 
She  must  wait  until  a  vehicle  of  some  sort  passed  and 
beg  for  a  lift.  She  was  half-starved;  her  feet  could  no 
longer  carry  her.  A  motor  thrilled  by  at  high  speed, 
a  fiery,  stinking  dragon  in  the  night.  Mosquitoes 
tormented  her.  She  had  no  strength  with  which  to 
oppose  them.  The  hand  in  which  she  had  held  the 
poison-ivy  was  beginning  to  itch  and  swell. 

A  second  motor  approached  slowly  and  came  to  a 
halt.  A  young  man  got  out,  opened  one  of  the  head 
lights,  struck  a  match,  and  lighted  it.  Then  he  lighted 
the  other.  The  low  stone  wall  on  which  Lila  sat  and 
Lila  herself  were  embraced  by  the  ring  of  illumination. 
It  must  have  been  obvious  to  any  one  but  a  fool  that 

325 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

Lila  was  out  of  place  in  her  surroundings;  her  peach- 
basket  hat,  the  oxford  ties  of  which  she  had  been  so 
proud,  told  a  story  of  city  breeding.  Her  face,  inno 
cent  and  childlike,  was  very  touching. 

The  young  man  shut  off  his  motor,  so  that  there  was 
a  sudden  silence.  "  Want  a  lift  somewhere  ?  "  he  asked 
cheerfully. 

Lila  could  not  remember  when  she  had  been  too 
young  to  be  warned  against  the  advances  of  strange 
men.  "  They  give  you  a  high  old  time,  and  then  they 
expect  to  be  paid  for  it,"  had  been  so  dinned  into  her 
that  if  she  had  given  the  young  man  a  sharp  "No" 
for  an  answer  it  would  have  been  almost  instinctive. 
Training  and  admonition  rose  strong  within  her.  She 
felt  that  she  was  going  to  refuse  help.  The  thought 
was  intolerable.  Wherefore,  instead  of  answering,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

A  moment  later  the  young  man  was  sitting  by  her 
side,  and  she  was  pouring  her  tale  of  a  day  gone  wrong 
into  amused  but  sympathetic  ears. 

His  voice  and  choice  of  words  belonged  to  a  world 
into  which  she  had  never  looked.  She  could  not  help 
trusting  him  and  believing  that  he  was  good — even 
when  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  let  her  finish  her 
cry  on  his  shoulder. 

"  And  your  friend  left  you — and  you've  got  no  car 
fare,  and  you've  had  nothing  to  eat,  and  you  can't 

326 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

walk  any  more  because  your  shoes  are  too  tight.  And 
you  live ?" 

She  told  him. 

"I  could  take  you  right  home  to  your  mother/'  he 
said,  "  but  I  won't.  That  would  be  a  good  ending  to 
a  day  gone  wrong,  but  not  the  best.  Come." 

He  supported  her  to  his  motor,  a  high-power  run 
about,  and  helped  her  in.  Never  before  had  she  sat 
in  such  reclining  comfort.  It  was  better  than  sitting 
up  in  bed. 

"  We'll  send  your  mother  a  telegram  from  New  Ro- 
chelle  so  that  she  won't  worry,"  he  said.  "Just  you 
let  yourself  go  and  try  to  enjoy  everything.  Fortu 
nately  I  know  of  a  shoe  store  in  New  Rochelle.  It 
won't  be  open;  but  the  proprietor  has  rooms  above 
the  store,  and  he'll  be  glad  to  make  a  sale  even  if  it 
is  Sunday.  The  first  principle  to  be  observed  in  a 
pleasant  outing  is  a  pair  of  comfortable  feet." 

"  But  I  have  no  money,"  protested  Lila. 

"I  have,"  said  the  young  man;  "too  much,  some 
people  think." 

Lila  had  been  taught  that  if  she  accepted  presents 
from  young  men  she  put  herself  more  or  less  in  their 
power. 

They  whirled  noiselessly  across  Pelham  Bridge. 
Lila  had  given  up  in  the  matter  of  accepting  a  present 
of  shoes.  In  so  doing  she  feared  that  she  had  com- 

327 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

mitted  herself  definitely  to  the  paths  that  lead  to  de 
struction.  And  when,  having  tried  in  vain  to  get  a 
table  at  two  inns  between  New  Rochelle  and  Larch- 
mont,  the  young  man  said  that  he  would  take  her  to 
his  own  home  to  dinner,  she  felt  sure  of  it.  But  she 
was  too  tired  to  care,  and  in  the  padded  seat,  and  the 
new  easy  shoes,  too  blissfully  comfortable.  They  had 
sent  her  mother  a  telegram.  The  young  man  had 
composed  it.  He  had  told  the  mother  not  to  worry. 
"  I'm  dining  out  and  won't  be  home  till  late." 

"We  won't  say  how  late,"  he  had  explained  with 
an  ingenuous  smile,  "  because  we  don't  know,  do  we  ?" 

They  had  gone  to  a  drug  store,  and  the  clerk  had 
bound  a  soothing  dressing  on  Lila's  poisoned  hand. 

They  turned  from  the  main  road  into  a  long  avenue 
over  which  trees  met  in  a  continuous  arch.  The  place 
was  all  a-twinkle  with  fireflies.  Box,  roses,  and  honey 
suckle  filled  the  air  with  delicious  odors — then  strong, 
pungent,  bracing  as  wine,  the  smell  of  salt-marshes, 
and  coldness  off  the  water.  On  a  point  of  land  among 
trees  many  lights  glowed. 

"That's  my  place,"  said  the  young  man. 

"We'll  have  dinner  on  the  terrace — deep  water 
comes  right  up  to  it.  There's  no  wind  to-night.  The 
candles  won't  even  flicker." 

As  if  the  stopping  of  the  automobile  had  been  a  sig 
nal,  the  front  door  swung  quietly  open  and  a  Chinese 

328 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

butler  in  white  linen  appeared  against  a  background 
of  soft  coloring  and  subdued  lights. 

As  Lila  entered  the  house  her  knees  shook  a  little. 
She  felt  that  she  was  definitely  committing  herself  to 
what  she  must  always  regret.  She  was  a  fly  walking 
deliberately  into  a  spider's  parlor.  That  the  young 
man  hitherto  had  behaved  most  circumspectly,  she 
dared  not  count  in  his  favor.  Was  it  not  always  so  in 
the  beginning?  He  seemed  like  a  jolly,  kindly  boy. 
She  had  the  impulse  to  scream  and  to  run  out  of  the 
house,  to  hide  in  the  shrubbery,  to  throw  herself  into 
the  water.  Her  heart  beat  like  that  of  a  trapped 
bird.  She  heard  the  front  door  close  behind  her. 

"I  think  you'd  be  more  comfy,"  said  the  young 
man,  "  if  you  took  off  your  hat,  don't  you  ?  Dinner  '11 
be  ready  in  about  ten  minutes.  Fong  will  show  you 
where  to  go." 

She  followed  the  Chinaman  up  a  flight  of  broad  low 
steps.  Their  feet  made  no  sound  on  the  thick  carpet 
ing.  He  held  open  the  door  of  a  bedroom.  It  was  all 
white  and  delicate  and  blue.  Through  a  door  at  the 
farther  end  she  had  a  glimpse  of  white  porcelain  and 
shining  nickel. 

Her  first  act  when  the  Chinaman  had  gone  was  to 
lock  the  door  by  which  she  had  entered.  Then  she 
looked  from  each  of  the  windows  in  turn.  The  ter 
race  was  beneath  her,  brick  with  a  balustrade  of  white, 

329 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

with  white  urns.  The  young  man,  bareheaded,  paced 
the  terrace  like  a  sentinel.  He  was  smoking  a  ciga 
rette. 

To  the  left  was  a  round  table,  set  for  two.  She 
could  see  that  the  chairs  were  of  white  wicker,  with 
deep,  soft  cushions.  In  the  centre  of  the  table  was  a 
bowl  of  red  roses.  Four  candles  burned  upright  in 
massive  silver  candlesticks. 

She  took  off  her  hat  mechanically,  washed  her  face 
and  the  hand  that  had  not  been  bandaged,  and  "did" 
her  hair.  She  looked  wonderfully  pretty  in  the  big 
mirror  over  the  dressing-table.  The  heavy  ivory 
brushes  looked  enormous  in  her  delicate  hands.  Her 
eyes  were  great  and  round  like  those  of  a  startled  deer. 

She  heard  his  voice  calling  to  her  from  the  terrace: 
"Hello,  up  there!  Got  everything  you  want?  Din 
ner's  ready  when  you  are." 

She  hesitated  a  long  time  with  her  hand  on  the 
door-key.  But  what  was  a  locked  door  in  an  isolated 
house  to  a  bad  man  ?  She  drew  a  deep  breath,  turned 
the  key,  waited  a  little  longer,  and  then,  as  a  person 
steps  into  a  very  cold  bath,  pushed  the  door  open  and 
went  out. 

He  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
She  went  down  slowly,  her  hand  on  the  rail.  She  had 
no  idea  that  she  was  making  an  exquisite  picture.  She 
knew  only  that  she  was  frightened. 

330 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

"  It's  turned  cool,"  said  the  young  man.  He  caught 
up  a  light  scarf  of  Chinese  embroidery  and  laid  it 
lightly  about  her  shoulders.  She  looked  him  for  the 
first  time  squarely  in  the  face.  She  saw  chiefly  a  pair 
of  rather  small,  deep-set  blue  eyes;  at  the  outer  cor 
ners  were  multitudinous  little  wrinkles,  dug  by  smiling. 
The  eyes  were  clear  as  a  child's,  full  of  compassionate 
laughter. 

A  feeling  of  perfect  security  came  over  her.  She 
thanked  Heaven  that  she  had  not  made  a  ridiculous 
scene.  The  chimes  of  a  tall  clock  broke  the  silence 
with  music. 

He  offered  her  his  arm,  and  she  laid  her  fingers 
on  it. 

"  I  think  we  are  served,"  he  said,  and  led  her  to  the 
terrace.  He  was  solicitous  about  placing  cushions  to 
the  best  advantage  for  her.  He  took  one  from  his 
own  chair,  and,  on  one  knee,  put  it  under  her  feet. 
He  smiled  at  her  across  the  bowl  of  roses. 

"How  old  are  you?"  he  said.  "You  look  like  a 
man's  kid  sister." 

She  told  him  that  she  was  seventeen  and  that  she 
had  worked  for  two  years  in  a  department  store. 

"My  father  was  a  farmer,"  she  said,  "but  he  lost 
one  arm,  and  couldn't  make  it  pay.  So  we  had  to 
come  to  the  city." 

"Is  your  father  living?" 
331 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

"  Yes.  But  he  says  he  is  dead.  He  can't  find  any 
work  to  do.  Mother  works  like  a  horse,  though,  and 
so  does  Bert,  and  so  do  I.  The  others  are  at  school." 

"  Do  you  like  your  work  ?  " 

"  Only  for  what  it  brings  in." 

"What  does  it  bring  in?" 

"Six  dollars  a  week." 

The  young  man  smiled.  "Never  mind,"  he  said; 
"eat  your  soup." 

It  did  her  good,  that  soup.  It  was  strong  and  very 
hot.  It  put  heart  into  her.  When  she  had  finished, 
he  laughed  gleefully. 

"It's  all  very  well  to  talk  about  rice-powder,  and 
cucumber-cream,  and  beauty-sleeps,  but  all  you  needed 
to  make  you  look  perfectly  lovely  was  a  cup  of  soup. 
That  scarf's  becoming  to  you,  too." 

She  blushed  happily.     She  had  lost  all  fear  of  him. 

"What  are  you  pinching  yourself  for?"  he  asked. 

"  To  see  if  I'm  awake." 

"  You  are,"  he  said,  "  wide  awake.  Take  my  word 
for  it,  and  I  hope  you're  having  a  good  time." 

The  Chinaman  poured  something  light  and  spark 
ling  into  her  glass  from  a  bottle  dressed  in  a  napkin. 
Misgivings  returned  to  her.  She  had  heard  of  girls 
being  drugged. 

"  You  don't  have  to  drink  it,"  said  the  young  man. 
"I  had  some  served  because  dinner  doesn't  look  like 

332 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

dinner  without  champagne.  Still,  after  the  thoroughly 
unhappy  day  you've  put  in,  I  think  a  mouthful  or  two 
would  do  you  good." 

She  lifted  the  glass  of  champagne,  smiled,  drank, 
and  choked.  He  laughed  at  her  merrily. 

All  through  dinner  he  kept  lighting  cigarettes  and 
throwing  them  away.  Between  times  he  ate  with  great 
relish  and  heartiness. 

Lila  was  in  heaven.  All  her  doubts  and  fears  had 
vanished.  She  felt  thoroughly  at  home,  as  if  she  had 
always  been  used  to  service  and  linen  and  silver  and 
courtesy. 

They  had  coffee,  and  then  they  strolled  about  in 
the  moonlight,  while  the  young  man  smoked  a  very 
long  cigar. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  sighed.  "  Well,  Miss," 
he  said, "  if  we're  to  get  you  safe  home  to  your  mother! " 

"  I  won't  be  a  minute,"  she  said. 

"You  know  the  way?" 

She  ran  upstairs,  and,  having  put  on  her  hat,  de 
cided  that  it  looked  cheap  and  vulgar,  and  took  it  off 
again. 

He  wrapped  her  in  a  soft  white  polo-coat  for  the 
long  run  to  New  York.  She  looked  back  at  the  lights 
of  his  house.  Would  she  ever  see  them  again,  or  smell 
the  salt  and  the  box  and  the  roses  ? 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  Zoological  Gar- 
333 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

dens  at  Fordham  she  had  fallen  blissfully  asleep.  He 
ran  the  car  with  considerate  slowness,  and  looked  at 
her  very  often.  She  waked  as  they  crossed  the  river. 
Her  eyes  shrank  from  the  piled  serried  buildings  of 
Manhattan.  The  air  was  no  longer  clean  and  delicious 
to  the  lungs. 

"Havel  been  asleep?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "how  could  I!  How  could  I! 
I've  missed  some  of  it.  And  it  never  happened  before, 
and  it  will  never  happen  again." 

"Not  in  the  same  way,  perhaps,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  But  how  do  you  know  ?  I  think  you  are  one  girl  in 
ten  million,  and  to  you  all  things  are  possible." 

"How  many  men  in  ten  million  are  like  you?"  she 
asked. 

"  Men  are  all  pretty  much  alike,"  he  said.  "  They 
have  good  impulses  and  bad." 

In  the  stark  darkness  between  the  outer  and  the 
inner  door  of  the  tenement  in  which  she  lived,  there 
was  an  awkward,  troubled  silence.  He  wished  very 
much  to  kiss  her,  but  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  not.  She  thought  that  he  might,  and  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  if  he  attempted  to  she  would  resist. 
She  was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  him  any  more,  but 
of  herself. 

He  kissed  her,  and  she  did  not  resist. 
334 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  and  then  with  a  half-laugh, 
"Which  is  your  bell?" 

She  found  it  and  rang  it.  Presently  there  was  a 
rusty  click,  and  the  inner  door  opened  an  inch  or  so. 
Neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  full  minute.  Then  she, 
her  face  aflame  in  the  darkness: 

"When  you  came  I  was  only  a  little  fool  who'd 
bought  a  pair  of  shoes  that  were  too  tight  for  her.  I 
didn't  know  anything.  I'm  wise  now.  I  know  that 
I'm  dreaming,  and  that  if  I  wake  up  before  the  dream 
is  ended  I  shall  die." 

She  tried  to  laugh  gayly  and  could  not. 

"  I've  made  things  harder  for  you  instead  of  easier," 
he  said.  "I'm  terribly  sorry.  I  meant  well." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  she  said.  "Thank  you  a  thou 
sand  thousand  times.  And  good-night." 

"Wait,"  he  said.  "Will  you  play  with  me  again 
some  time?  How  about  Saturday?" 

"No,"  she  said.  "It  wouldn't  be  fair — to  me. 
Good-night." 

She  passed  through  the  inner  door  and  up  the  nar 
row  creaking  stair  to  the  dark  tenement  in  which  she 
lived;  she  could  hear  the  restless  breathing  of  her 
sleeping  family. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  she  thought,  "if  it  weren't  for 
them!" 

As  for  the  young  man,  having  lighted  a  long  cigar, 
335 


AN  IDYL  OF  PELHAM  BAY  PARK 

he  entered  his  car  and  drove  off,  muttering  to  him 
self: 

"Damnation!  Why  does  a  girl  like  that  have  a 
family!" 

He  never  saw  her  again,  nor  was  he  ever  haunted 
by  the  thought  that  he  had  perhaps  spoiled  her  whole 
life  as  thoroughly  as  if  he  had  taken  advantage  of  her 
ignorance  and  her  innocence. 


336 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE   GRASS 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE   GRASS 

It  was  spring  in  the  South  Seas  when,  for  the  first 
time,  I  went  ashore  at  Batengo,  which  is  the  Poly 
nesian  village,  and  the  only  one  on  the  big  grass  island 
of  the  same  name.  There  is  a  cable  station  just  up 
the  beach  from  the  village,  and  a  good-natured  young 
chap  named  Graves  had  charge  of  it.  He  was  an  up 
standing,  clean-cut  fellow,  as  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
among  the  islands  for  three  years  without  falling  into 
any  of  their  ways  proved.  The  interior  of  the  corru 
gated  iron  house  in  which  he  lived,  for  instance,  was 
bachelor  from  A  to  Z.  And  if  that  wasn't  a  sufficient 
alibi,  my  pointer  dog,  Don,  who  dislikes  anything  Poly 
nesian  or  Melanesian,  took  to  him  at  once.  And  they 
established  a  romping  friendship.  He  gave  us  lunch 
on  the  porch,  and  because  he  had  not  seen  a  white  man 
for  two  months,  or  a  liver-and-white  dog  for  two  years, 
he  told  us  the  entire  story  of  his  young  life,  with  remi 
niscences  of  early  childhood  and  plans  for  the  future 
thrown  in. 

The  future  was  very  simple.  There  was  a  girl  com 
ing  out  to  him  from  the  States  by  the  next  steamer  but 
one;  the  captain  of  that  steamer  would  join  them  to- 

339 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

gether  in  holy  wedlock,  and  after  that  the  Lord  would 
provide. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "you  think  I'm  asking 
her  to  share  a  very  lonely  sort  of  life,  but  if  you  could 
imagine  all  the — the  affection  and  gentleness,  and 
thoughtfulness  that  I've  got  stored  up  to  pour  out  at 
her  feet  for  the  rest  of  our  lives,  you  wouldn't  be  a  bit 
afraid  for  her  happiness.  If  a  man  spends  his  whole 
time  and  imagination  thinking  up  ways  to  make  a  girl 
happy  and  occupied,  he  can  think  up  a  whole  lot.  .  .  . 
I'd  like  ever  so  much  to  show  her  to  you." 

He  led  the  way  to  his  bedroom,  and  stood  in  silent 
rapture  before  a  large  photograph  that  leaned  against 
the  wall  over  his  dressing-table. 

She  didn't  look  to  me  like  the  sort  of  girl  a  cable 
agent  would  happen  to  marry.  She  looked  like  a  swell 
—the  real  thing— beautiful  and  simple  and  unaffected. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "isn't  she?" 

I  hadn't  spoken  a  word.     Now  I  said: 

"It's  easy  to  see  why  you  aren't  lonely  with  that 
wonderful  girl  to  look  at.  Is  she  really  coming  out 
by  the  next  steamer  but  one?  It's  hard  to  believe 
because  she's  so  much  too  good  to  be  true." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "isn't  she?" 

"The  usual  cable  agent,"  I  said,  "keeps  from  going 
mad  by  having  a  dog  or  a  cat  or  some  pet  or  other  to 
talk  to.  But  I  can  understand  a  photograph  like  this 

340 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

being  all-sufficient  to  any  man — even  if  he  had  never 
seen  the  original.  Allow  me  to  shake  hands  with  you/' 

Then  I  got  him  away  from  the  girl,  because  my  time 
was  short  and  I  wanted  to  find  out  about  some  things 
that  were  important  to  me. 

"  You  haven't  asked  me  my  business  in  these  parts," 
I  said,  "but  I'll  tell  you.  I'm  collecting  grasses  for 
the  Bronx  Botanical  Garden." 

"Then,  by  Jove!"  said  Graves,  "you  have  certainly 
come  to  the  right  place.  There  used  to  be  a  tree  on 
this  island,  but  the  last  man  who  saw  it  died  in  1789 — 
Grass!  The  place  is  all  grass:  there  are  fifty  kinds 
right  around  my  house  here." 

"I've  noticed  only  eighteen,"  I  said,  "but  that  isn't 
the  point.  The  point  is:  when  do  the  Batengo  Island 
grasses  begin  to  go  to  seed?"  And  I  smiled. 

"You  think  you've  got  me  stumped,  don't  you?" 
he  said.  "That  a  mere  cable  agent  wouldn't  notice 
such  things.  Well,  that  grass  there,"  and  he  pointed 
— "  beach  nut  we  call  it — is  the  first  to  ripen  seed,  and, 
as  far  as  I  know,  it  does  it  just  six  weeks  from  now." 

"Are  you  just  making  things  up  to  impress  me?" 

"No,  sir,  I  am  not.  I  know  to  the  minute.  You 
see,  I'm  a  victim  of  hay-fever." 

"In  that  case,"  I  said,  "expect  me  back  about  the 
time  your  nose  begins  to  run." 

"Really?"  And  his  whole  face  lighted  up.  "I'm 
341 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

delighted.  Only  six  weeks.  Why,  then,  if  you'll  stay 
round  for  only  five  or  six  weeks  more  you'll  be  here 
for  the  wedding." 

"  I'll  make  it  if  I  possibly  can,"  I  said.  "  I  want  to 
see  if  that  girl's  really  true." 

"  Anything  I  can  do  to  help  you  while  you're  gone  ? 
I've  got  loads  of  spare  time " 

"If  you  knew  anything  about  grasses " 

"  I  don't.  But  I'll  blow  back  into  the  interior  and 
look  around.  I've  been  meaning  to  right  along,  just 
for  fun.  But  I  can  never  get  any  of  them  to  go  with 
me." 

"The  natives?" 

"  Yes.  Poor  lot.  They're  committing  race  suicide 
as  fast  as  they  can.  There  are  more  wooden  gods 
than  people  in  Batengo  village,  and  the  superstition's 
so  thick  you  could  cut  it  with  a  knife.  All  the  manly 
virtues  have  perished.  .  .  .  Aloiu!" 

The  boy  who  did  Graves's  chores  for  him  came  lazily 
out  of  the  house. 

"  Aloiu,"  said  Graves,  "  just  run  back  into  the  island 
to  the  top  of  that  hill — see  ? — that  one  over  there — and 
fetch  a  handful  of  grass  for  this  gentleman.  He'll 
give  you  five  dollars  for  it." 

Aloiu  grinned  sheepishly  and  shook  his  head. 

"Fifty  dollars?" 

Aloiu  shook  his  head  with  even  more  firmness,  and 
342 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

I  whistled.  Fifty  dollars  would  have  made  him  the 
Rockefeller-Carnegie-Morgan  of  those  parts. 

"  All  right,  coward,"  said  Graves  cheerfully.  "  Run 
away  and  play  with  the  other  children.  .  .  .  Now,  isn't 
that  curious?  Neither  love,  money,  nor  insult  will 
drag  one  of  them  a  mile  from  the  beach.  They  say 
that  if  you  go '  back  there  in  the  grass*  something  awful 
will  happen  to  you." 

"As  what?"  I  asked. 

"  The  last  man  to  try  it,"  said  Graves,  "  in  the  mem 
ory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  was  a  woman.  When 
they  found  her  she  was  all  black  and  swollen — at  least 
that's  what  they  say.  Something  had  bitten  her  just 
above  the  ankle." 

"Nonsense,"  I  said,  "there  are  no  snakes  in  the 
whole  Batengo  group." 

"They  didn't  say  it  was  a  snake,"  said  Graves. 
"They  said  the  marks  of  the  bite  were  like  those  that 
would  be  made  by  the  teeth  of  a  very  little — child." 

Graves  rose  and  stretched  himself. 

"What's  the  use  of  arguing  with  people  that  tell 
yarns  like  that !  All  the  same,  if  you're  bent  on  making 
expeditions  back  into  the  grass,  you'll  make  'em  alone, 
unless  the  cable  breaks  and  I'm  free  to  make  'em  with 
you." 

Five  weeks  later  I  was  once  more  coasting  along  the 
wavering  hills  of  Batengo  Island,  with  a  sharp  eye  out 
for  a  first  sight  of  the  cable  station  and  Graves.  Five 

343 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

weeks  with  no  company  but  Kanakas  and  a  pointer 
dog  makes  one  white  man  pretty  keen  for  the  society 
of  another.  Furthermore,  at  our  one  meeting  I  had 
taken  a  great  shine  to  Graves  and  to  the  charming 
young  lady  who  was  to  brave  a  life  in  the  South  Seas 
for  his  sake.  If  I  was  eager  to  get  ashore,  Don  was 
more  so.  I  had  a  shot-gun  across  my  knees  with  which 
to  salute  the  cable  station,  and  the  sight  of  that  weapon, 
coupled  with  toothsome  memories  of  a  recent  big  hunt 
down  on  Forked  Peak,  had  set  the  dog  quivering  from 
stem  to  stern,  to  crouching,  wagging  his  tail  till  it  dis 
appeared,  and  beating  sudden  tattoos  upon  the  deck 
with  his  forepaws.  And  when  at  last  we  rounded  on 
the  cable  station  and  I  let  off  both  barrels,  he  began 
to  bark  and  race  about  the  schooner  like  a  thing  pos 
sessed. 

The  salute  brought  Graves  out  of  his  house.  He 
stood  on  the  porch  waving  a  handkerchief,  and  I  called 
to  him  through  a  megaphone;  hoped  that  he  was  well, 
said  how  glad  I  was  to  see  him,  and  asked  him  to  meet 
me  in  Batengo  village. 

Even  at  that  distance  I  detected  a  something  irreso 
lute  in  his  manner;  and  a  few  minutes  later  when  he  had 
fetched  a  hat  out  of  the  house,  locked  the  door,  and 
headed  toward  the  village,  he  looked  more  like  a  sol 
dier  marching  to  battle  than  a  man  walking  half  a  mile 
to  greet  a  friend. 

"That's  funny,"  I  said  to  Don.  "He's  coming  to 
344 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

meet  us  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he'd  much  rather  not. 
Oh,  well!" 

I  left  the  schooner  while  she  was  still  under  way,  and 
reached  the  beach  before  Graves  came  up.  There 
were  too  many  strange  brown  men  to  suit  Don,  and 
he  kept  very  close  to  my  legs.  When  Graves  arrived 
the  natives  fell  away  from  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  leper. 
He  wore  a  sort  of  sickly  smile,  and  when  he  spoke  the 
dog  stiffened  his  legs  and  growled  menacingly. 

"Don!"  I  exclaimed  sternly,  and  the  dog  cowered, 
but  the  spines  along  his  back  bristled  and  he  kept  a 
menacing  eye  upon  Graves.  The  man's  face  looked 
drawn  and  rather  angry.  The  frank  boyishness  was 
clean  out  of  it.  He  had  been  strained  by  something  or 
other  to  the  breaking-point — so  much  was  evident. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  said,  "what  the  devil  is  the 
matter?" 

Graves  looked  to  right  and  left,  and  the  islanders 
shrank  still  farther  away  from  him. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,"  he  said  curtly.  "I'm 
taboo."  And  then,  with  a  little  break  in  his  voice: 
"  Even  your  dog  feels  it.  Don,  good  boy !  Come  here, 
sir!" 

Don  growled  quietly. 

"You  see!" 

"Don,"  I  said  sharply,  "this  man  is  my  friend  and 
yours.  Pat  him,  Graves." 

345 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

Graves  reached  forward  and  patted  Don's  head  and 
talked  to  him  soothingly. 

But  although  Don  did  not  growl  or  menace,  he 
shivered  under  the  caress  and  was  unhappy. 

"So  you're  taboo!"  I  said  cheerfully.  "That's  the 
result  of  anything,  from  stringing  pink  and  yellow 
shells  on  the  same  string  to  murdering  your  uncle's 
grandmother-in-law.  Which  have  you  done?" 

"  I've  been  back  there  in  the  grass,"  he  said,  "  and 
because — because  nothing  happened  to  me  I'm  taboo." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  As  far  as  they  know — yes." 

"Well!"  said  I,  "my  business  will  take  me  back 
there  for  days  at  a  time,  so  I'll  be  taboo,  too.  Then 
there'll  be  two  of  us.  Did  you  find  any  curious  grasses 
forme?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  grasses,"  he  said,  "  but  I  found 
something  very  curious  that  I  want  to  show  you  and 
ask  your  advice  about.  Are  you  going  to  share  my 
house?" 

"  I  think  I'll  keep  head-quarters  on  the  schooner," 
I  said,  "but  if  you'll  put  me  up  now  and  then  for  a 
meal  or  for  the  night " 

"  I'll  put  you  up  for  lunch  right  now,"  he  said,  "  if 
you'll  come.  I'm  my  own  cook  and  bottle-washer  since 
the  taboo,  but  I  must  say  the  change  isn't  for  the  worse 
so  far  as  food  goes." 

346 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

He  was  looking  and  speaking  more  cheerfully. 

"May  I  bring  Don?" 

He  hesitated. 

"  Why — yes — of  course." 

"If  you'd  rather  not?" 

"  No,  bring  him.  I  want  to  make  friends  again  if  I 
can." 

So  we  started  for  Graves's  house,  Don  very  close  at 
my  heels. 

"Graves,"  I  said,  "surely  a  taboo  by  a  lot  of  fool 
islanders  hasn't  upset  you.  There's  something  on  your 
mind.  Bad  news?" 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "She's  coming.  It's  other 
things.  I'll  tell  you  by  and  by — everything.  Don't 
mind  me.  I'm  all  right.  Listen  to  the  wind  in  the 
grass.  That  sound  day  and  night  is  enough  to  put  a 
man  off  his  feed." 

"You  say  you  found  something  very  curious  back 
there  in  the  grass  ?  " 

"I  found,  among  other  things,  a  stone  monolith. 
It's  fallen  down,  but  it's  almost  as  big  as  the  Flatiron 
Building  in  New  York.  It's  ancient  as  days — all 
carved — it's  a  sort  of  woman,  I  think.  But  we'll  go 
back  one  day  and  have  a  look  at  it.  Then,  of  course, 
I  saw  all  the  different  kinds  of  grasses  in  the  world — 
they'd  interest  you  more — but  I'm  such  a  punk  bota 
nist  that  I  gave  up  trying  to  tell  'em  apart.  I  like  the 

347 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

flowers  best — there's  millions  of  'em — down  among  the 
grass.  ...  I  tell  you,  old  man,  this  island  is  the  great 
est  curiosity-shop  in  the  whole  world." 

He  unlocked  the  door  of  his  house  and  stood  aside 
for  me  to  go  in  first. 

"Shut  up,  Don!" 

The  dog  growled  savagely,  but  I  banged  him  with 
my  open  hand  across  the  snout,  and  he  quieted  down 
and  followed  into  the  house,  all  tense  and  watchful. 

On  the  shelf  where  Graves  kept  his  books,  with  its 
legs  hanging  over,  was  what  I  took  to  be  an  idol  of  some 
light  brownish  wood — say  sandalwood,  with  a  touch  of 
pink.  But  it  was  the  most  lifelike  and  astounding 
piece  of  carving  I  ever  saw  in  the  islands  or  out  of  them. 
It  was  about  a  foot  high,  and  represented  a  Polynesian 
woman  in  the  prime  of  life,  say,  fifteen  or  sixteen  years 
old,  only  the  features  were  finer  and  cleaner  carved. 
It  was  a  nude,  in  an  attitude  of  easy  repose — the  legs 
hanging,  the  toes  dangling — the  hands  resting,  palms 
downward,  on  the  blotter,  the  trunk  relaxed.  The 
eyes,  which  were  a  kind  of  steely  blue,  seemed  to  have 
been  made,  depth  upon  depth,  of  some  wonderful 
translucent  enamel,  and  to  make  his  work  still  more 
realistic  the  artist  had  planted  the  statuette's  eyebrows, 
eyelashes,  and  scalp  with  real  hair,  very  soft  and  silky, 
brown  on  the  head  and  black  for  the  lashes  and  eye 
brows.  The  thing  was  so  lifelike  that  it  frightened 

348 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

me.  And  when  Don  began  to  growl  like  distant  thun 
der  I  didn't  blame  him.  But  I  leaned  over  and  caught 
him  by  the  collar,  because  it  was  evident  that  he  wanted 
to  get  at  that  statuette  and  destroy  it. 

When  I  looked  up  the  statuette's  eyes  had  moved. 
They  were  turned  downward  upon  the  dog,  with  cool 
curiosity  and  indifference.  A  kind  of  shudder  went 
through  me.  And  then,  lo  and  behold,  the  statuette's 
tiny  brown  breasts  rose  and  fell  slowly,  and  a  long 
breath  came  out  of  its  nostrils. 

I  backed  violently  into  Graves,  dragging  Don  with 
me  and  half-choking  him.  "My  God  Almighty!"  I 
said.  "It's  alive!" 

"Isn't  she!"  said  he.  "I  caught  her  back  there  in 
the  grass — the  little  minx.  And  when  I  heard  your 
signal  I  put  her  up  there  to  keep  her  out  of  mischief. 
It's  too  high  for  her  to  jump — and  she's  very  sore 
about  it." 

"You  found  her  in  the  grass,"  I  said.  "For  God's 
sake! — are  there  more  of  them?" 

"Thick  as  quail,"  said  he,  "but  it's  hard  to  get  a 
sight  of  'em.  But  you  were  overcome  by  curiosity, 
weren't  you,  old  girl?  You  came  out  to  have  a  look 
at  the  big  white  giant  and  he  caught  you  with  his 
thumb  and  forefinger  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck — so  you 
couldn't  bite  him — and  here  you  are." 

The  womankin's  lips  parted  and  I  saw  a  flash  of 
349 


BACK  ;THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

white  teeth.  She  looked  up  into  Graves's  face  and 
the  steely  eyes  softened.  It  was  evident  that  she  was 
very  fond  of  him. 

"Rum  sort  of  a  pet,"  said  Graves.     "What?" 

"Rum?"  I  said.  "It's  horrible— it  isn't  decent- 
it — it  ought  to  be  taboo.  Don's  got  it  sized  up  right. 
He— he  wants  to  kill  it." 

"Please  don't  keep  calling  her  It,"  said  Graves. 
"She  wouldn't  like  it— if  she  understood."  Then  he 
whispered  words  that  were  Greek  to  me,  and  the 
womankin  laughed  aloud.  Her  laugh  was  sweet  and 
tinkly,  like  the  upper  notes  of  a  spinet. 

"You  can  speak  her  language?" 

"A  few  words — Tog  ma  Lao?" 

"Na!" 

"AbaTonsugato." 

"  Nan  Tane  dom  ud  Ion  anea!" 

It  sounded  like  that — only  all  whispered  and  very 
soft.  It  sounded  a  little  like  the  wind  in  the  grass. 

"  She  says  she  isn't  afraid  of  the  dog,"  said  Graves, 
"and  that  he'd  better  let  her  alone." 

"  I  almost  hope  he  won't,"  said  I.  "  Come  outside. 
I  don't  like  her.  I  think  I've  got  a  touch  of  the  hor 
rors." 

Graves  remained  behind  a  moment  to  lift  the  wom 
ankin  down  from  the  shelf,  and  when  he  rejoined  me 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  talk  to  him  like  a  father. 

350 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

"  Graves,"  I  said,  "  although  that  creature  in  there 
is  only  a  foot  high,  it  isn't  a  pig  or  a  monkey,  it's  a 
woman,  and  you're  guilty  of  what's  considered  a  pretty 
ugly  crime  at  home — abduction.  You've  stolen  this 
woman  away  from  kith  and  kin,  and  the  least  you  can 
do  is  to  carry  her  back  where  you  found  her  and  turn 
her  loose.  Let  me  ask  you  one  thing — what  would 
Miss  Chester  think?" 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  worry  me,"  said  Graves.  "  But 
I  am  worried — worried  sick.  It's  early — shall  we  talk 
now,  or  wait  till  after  lunch  ? " 

"Now,"  I  said. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  left  me  pretty  well  enthused 
on  the  subject  of  botany — so  I  went  back  there  twice 
to  look  up  grasses  for  you.  The  second  time  I  went 
I  got  to  a  deep  sort  of  valley  where  the  grass  is  waist- 
high — that,  by  the  way,  is  where  the  big  monolith  is — 
and  that  place  was  alive  with  things  that  were  fright 
ened  and  ran.  I  could  see  the  directions  they  took  by 
the  way  the  grass  tops  acted.  There  were  lots  of 
loose  stones  about  and  I  began  to  throw  'em  to  see  if 
I  could  knock  one  of  the  things  over.  Suddenly  all 
at  once  I  saw  a  pair  of  bright  little  eyes  peering  out  of 
a  bunch  of  grass — I  let  fly  at  them,  and  something 
gave  a  sort  of  moan  and  thrashed  about  in  the  grass 
— and  then  lay  still.  I  went  to  look,  and  found  that 
I'd  stunned — her.  She  came  to  and  tried  to  bite  me, 

351 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

but  I  had  her  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  she  couldn't. 
Further,  she  was  sick  with  being  hit  in  the  chest  with 
the  stone,  and  first  thing  I  knew  she  keeled  over  in 
the  palm  of  my  hand  in  a  dead  faint.  I  couldn't  find 
any  water  or  anything — and  I  didn't  want  her  to  die — 
so  I  brought  her  home.  She  was  sick  for  a  week — 
and  I  took  care  of  her — as  I  would  a  sick  pup — and 
she  began  to  get  well  and  want  to  play  and  romp  and 
poke  into  everything.  She'd  get  the  lower  drawer  of 
my  desk  open  and  hide  in  it — or  crawl  into  a  rubber 
boot  and  play  house.  And  she  got  to  be  right  good 
company — same  as  any  pet  does — a  cat  or  a  dog — or 
a  monkey — and  naturally,  she  being  so  small,!  couldn't 
think  of  her  as  anything  but  a  sort  of  little  beast  that 
I'd  caught  and  tamed.  .  .  .  You  see  how  it  all  hap 
pened,  don't  you?  Might  have  happened  to  any 
body." 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  said,  "If  she  didn't  give  a  man  the 
horrors  right  at  the  start — I  can  understand  making 
a  sort  of  pet  of  her — but,  man,  there's  only  one  thing 
to  do.  Be  persuaded.  Take  her  back  where  you 
found  her,  and  turn  her  loose." 

"  Well  and  good,"  said  Graves.  "  I  tried  that,  and 
next  morning  I  found  her  at  my  door,  sobbing — hor 
rible,  dry  sobs — no  tears.  .  .  .  You've  said  one  thing 
that's  full  of  sense:  she  isn't  a  pig — or  a  monkey — 
she's  a  woman." 

352 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

"You  don't  mean  to  say/*  said  I,  " that  that  mite  of 
a  thing  is  in  love  with  you?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  else  you'd  call  it." 

"Graves,"  I  said,  "Miss  Chester  arrives  by  the 
next  steamer.  In  the  meanwhile  something  has  got 
to  be  done." 

"What?"  said  he  hopelessly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said.     "  Let  me  think." 

The  dog  Don  laid  his  head  heavily  on  my  knee,  as 
if  he  wished  to  offer  a  solution  of  the  difficulty. 

A  week  before  Miss  Chester's  steamer  was  due  the 
situation  had  not  changed.  Graves's  pet  was  as  much 
a  fixture  of  Graves's  house  as  the  front  door.  And  a 
man  was  never  confronted  with  a  more  serious  prob 
lem.  Twice  he  carried  her  back  into  the  grass  and 
deserted  her,  and  each  time  she  returned  and  was 
found  sobbing — horrible,  dry  sobs — on  the  porch.  And 
a  number  of  times  we  took  her,  or  Graves  did,  in  the 
pocket  of  his  jacket,  upon  systematic  searches  for  her 
people.  Doubtless  she  could  have  helped  us  to  find 
them,  but  she  wouldn't.  She  was  very  sullen  on  these 
expeditions  and  frightened.  When  Graves  tried  to 
put  her  down  she  would  cling  to  him,  and  it  took  real 
force  to  pry  her  loose. 

In  the  open  she  could  run  like  a  rat;  and  in  open 
country  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  desert  her; 
she  would  have  followed  at  Graves's  heels  as  fast  as 

353 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

he  could  move  them.  But  forcing  through  the  thick 
grass  tired  her  after  a  few  hundred  yards,  and  she 
would  gradually  drop  farther  and  farther  behind — sob 
bing.  There  was  a  pathetic  side  to  it. 

She  hated  me;  and  made  no  bones  about  it;  but 
there  was  an  armed  truce  between  us.  She  feared  my 
influence  over  Graves,  and  I  feared  her — well,  just  as 
some  people  fear  rats  or  snakes.  Things  utterly  out 
of  the  normal  always  do  worry  me,  and  Bo,  which  was 
the  name  Graves  had  learned  for  her,  was,  so  far  as  I 
know,  unique  in  human  experience.  In  appearance 
she  was  like  an  unusually  good-looking  island  girl 
observed  through  the  wrong  end  of  an  opera-glass, 
but  in  habit  and  action  she  was  different.  She  would 
catch  flies  and  little  grasshoppers  and  eat  them  all  alive 
and  kicking,  and  if  you  teased  her  more  than  she  liked 
her  ears  would  flatten  the  way  a  cat's  do,  and  she  would 
hiss  like  a  snapping-turtle,  and  show  her  teeth. 

But  one  got  accustomed  to  her.  Even  poor  Don 
learned  that  it  was  not  his  duty  to  punish  her  with  one 
bound  and  a  snap.  But  he  would  never  let  her  touch 
him,  believing  that  in  her  case  discretion  was  the  bet 
ter  part  of  valor.  If  she  approached  him  he  withdrew, 
always  with  dignity,  but  equally  with  determination. 
He  knew  in  his  heart  that  something  about  her  was 
horribly  wrong  and  against  nature.  I  knew  it,  too, 
and  I  think  Graves  began  to  suspect  it. 

354 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

Well,  a  day  came  when  Graves,  who  had  been  up 
since  dawn,  saw  the  smoke  of  a  steamer  along  the 
horizon,  and  began  to  fire  off  his  revolver  so  that  I, 
too,  might  wake  and  participate  in  his  joy.  I  made 
tea  and  went  ashore. 

"It's  her  steamer,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  we've  got  to  decide  something." 

"About  Bo?" 

"  Suppose  I  take  her  off  your  hands — for  a  week  or 
so — till  you  and  Miss  Chester  have  settled  down  and 
put  your  house  in  order.  Then  Miss  Chester — Mrs. 
Graves,  that  is — can  decide  what  is  to  be  done.  I 
admit  that  I'd  rather  wash  my  hands  of  the  business — 
but  I'm  the  only  white  man  available,  and  I  propose 
to  stand  by  my  race.  Don't  say  a  word  to  Bo — just 
bring  her  out  to  the  schooner  and  leave  her." 

In  the  upshot  Graves  accepted  my  offer,  and  while 
Bo,  fairly  bristling  with  excitement  and  curiosity,  was 
exploring  the  farther  corners  of  my  cabin,  we  slipped 
out  and  locked  the  door  on  her.  The  minute  she 
knew  what  had  happened  she  began  to  tear  around 
and  raise  Cain.  It  sounded  a  little  like  a  cat  having 
a  fit. 

Graves  was  white  and  unhappy.  "  Let's  get  away 
quick,"  he  said;  "I  feel  like  a  skunk." 

But  Miss  Chester  was  everything  that  her  photo 
graph  said  about  her,  and  more  too,  so  that  the  trick 

355 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

he  had  played  Bo  was  very  soon  a  negligible  weight 
on  Graves's  mind. 

If  the  wedding  was  quick  and  business-like,  it  was 
also  jolly  and  romantic.  The  oldest  passenger  gave 
the  bride  away.  All  the  crew  came  aft  and  sang  "  The 
Voice  That  Breathed  O'er  E-den  That  Earliest  Wed 
ding-Day" — to  the  tune  called  "  Blairgowrie."  They 
had  worked  it  up  in  secret  for  a  surprise.  And  the 
bride's  dove-brown  eyes  got  a  little  teary.  I  was  best 
man.  The  captain  read  the  service,  and  choked  oc 
casionally.  As  for  Graves — I  had  never  thought  him 
handsome — well,  with  his  brown  face  and  white  linen 
suit,  he  made  me  think,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why, 
of  St.  Michael — that  time  he  overcame  Lucifer.  The 
captain  blew  us  to  breakfast,  with  champagne  and  a 
cake,  and  then  the  happy  pair  went  ashore  in  a  boat 
full  of  the  bride's  trousseau,  and  the  crew  manned  the 
bulwarks  and  gave  three  cheers,  and  then  something 
like  twenty-seven  more,  and  last  thing  of  all  the  brass 
cannon  was  fired,  and  the  little  square  flags  that  spell 
G-o-o-d  L-u-c-k  were  run  up  on  the  signal  halyards. 

As  for  me,  I  went  back  to  my  schooner  feeling  blue 
and  lonely.  I  knew  little  about  women  and  less  about 
love.  It  didn't  seem  quite  fair.  For  once  I  hated  my 
profession— seed-gatherer  to  a  body  of  scientific  gen 
tlemen  whom  I  had  never  seen.  Well,  there's  nothing 
so  good  for  the  blues  as  putting  things  in  order. 

356 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

I  cleaned  my  rifle  and  revolver.  I  wrote  up  my  note 
book.  I  developed  some  plates;  I  studied  a  brand- 
new  book  on  South  Sea  grasses  that  had  been  sent  out 
to  me,  and  I  found  some  mistakes.  I  went  ashore  with 
Don,  and  had  a  long  walk  on  the  beach — in  the  oppo 
site  direction  from  Graves's  house,  of  course — and  I 
sent  Don  into  the  water  after  sticks,  and  he  seemed  to 
enjoy  it,  and  so  I  stripped  and  went  in  with  him.  Then 
I  dried  in  the  sun,  and  had  a  match  with  my  hands  to 
see  which  could  find  the  tiniest  shell.  Toward  dusk  we 
returned  to  the  schooner  and  had  dinner,  and  after  that 
I  went  into  my  cabin  to  see  how  Bo  was  getting  on. 

She  flew  at  me  like  a  cat,  and  if  I  hadn't  jerked  my 
foot  back  she  must  have  bitten  me.  As  it  was,  her 
teeth  tore  a  piece  out  of  my  trousers.  I'm  afraid  I 
kicked  her.  Anyway,  I  heard  her  land  with  a  crash 
in  a  far  corner.  I  struck  a  match  and  lighted  candles 
— they  are  cooler  than  lamps — very  warily — one  eye 
on  Bo.  She  had  retreated  under  a  chair  and  looked 
out — very  sullen  and  angry.  I  sat  down  and  began 
to  talk  to  her.  "It's  no  use,"  I  said,  "you're  trying 
to  bite  and  scratch,  because  you're  only  as  big  as  a 
minute.  So  come  out  here  and  make  friends.  I  don't 
like  you  and  you  don't  like  me;  but  we're  going  to  be 
thrown  together  for  quite  some  time,  so  we'd  better 
make  the  best  of  it.  You  come  out  here  and  behave 
pretty  and  I'll  give  you  a  bit  of  gingersnap." 

357 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

The  last  word  was  intelligible  to  her,  and  she  came 
a  little  way  out  from  under  the  chair.  I  had  a  bit  of 
gingersnap  in  my  pocket,  left  over  from  treating  Don, 
and  I  tossed  it  on  the  floor  midway  between  us.  She 
darted  forward  and  ate  it  with  quick  bites. 

Well,  then,  she  looked  up,  and  her  eyes  asked — just 
as  plain  as  day:  "Why  are  things  thus?  Why  have 
I  come  to  live  with  you?  I  don't  like  you.  I  want 
to  go  back  to  Graves." 

I  couldn't  explain  very  well,  and  just  shook  my  head 
and  then  went  on  trying  to  make  friends — it  was  no 
use.  She  hated  me,  and  after  a  time  I  got  bored.  I 
threw  a  pillow  on  the  floor  for  her  to  sleep  on,  and  left 
her.  Well,  the  minute  the  door  was  shut  and  locked 
she  began  to  sob.  You  could  hear  her  for  quite  a  dis 
tance,  and  I  couldn't  stand  it.  So  I  went  back — and 
talked  to  her  as  nicely  and  soothingly  as  I  could.  But 
she  wouldn't  even  look  at  me — just  lay  face  down — 
heaving  and  sobbing. 

Now  I  don't  like  little  creatures  that  snap — so  when 
I  picked  her  up  it  was  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck.  She 
had  to  face  me  then,  and  I  saw  that  in  spite  of  all  the 
sobbing  her  eyes  were  perfectly  dry.  That  struck 
me  as  curious.  I  examined  them  through  a  pocket 
magnify  ing-glass,  and  discovered  that  they  had  no 
tear-ducts.  Of  course  she  couldn't  cry.  Perhaps  I 
squeezed  the  back  of  her  neck  harder  than  I  meant  to 

358 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

— anyway,  her  lips  began  to  draw  back  and  her  teeth 
to  show. 

It  was  exactly  at  that  second  that  I  recalled  the 
legend  Graves  had  told  me  about  the  island  woman 
being  found  dead,  and  all  black  and  swollen,  back 
there  in  the  grass,  with  teeth  marks  on  her  that  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  made  by  a  very  little  child. 

I  forced  Bo's  mouth  wide  open  and  looked  in.  Then 
I  reached  for  a  candle  and  held  it  steadily  between  her 
face  and  mine.  She  struggled  furiously  so  that  I  had 
to  put  down  the  candle  and  catch  her  legs  together  in 
my  free  hand.  But  I  had  seen  enough.  I  felt  wet  and 
cold  all  over.  For  if  the  swollen  glands  at  the  base  of 
the  deeply  grooved  canines  meant  anything,  that  which 
I  held  between  my  hands  was  not  a  woman — but  a 
snake. 

I  put  her  in  a  wooden  box  that  had  contained  soap 
and  nailed  slats  over  the  top.  And,  personally,  I  was 
quite  willing  to  put  scrap-iron  in  the  box  with  her  and 
fling  it  overboard.  But  I  did  not  feel  quite  justified 
without  consulting  Graves. 

As  an  extra  precaution  in  case  of  accidents,  I  over 
hauled  my  medicine-chest  and  made  up  a  little  package 
for  the  breast  pocket — a  lancet,  a  rubber  bandage,  and 
a  pill-box  full  of  permanganate  crystals.  I  had  still 
much  collecting  to  do,  "  back  there  in  the  grass,"  and 
I  did  not  propose  to  step  on  any  of  Bo's  cousins  or  her 

359 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

sisters  or  her  aunts — without  having  some  of  the  ele 
mentary  first-aids  to  the  snake-bitten  handy. 

It  was  a  lovely  starry  night,  and  I  determined  to 
sleep  on  deck.  Before  turning  in  I  went  to  have  a 
look  at  Bo.  Having  nailed  her  in  a  box  securely,  as 
I  thought,  I  must  have  left  my  cabin  door  ajar.  Any 
how  she  was  gone.  She  must  have  braced  her  back 
against  one  side  of  the  box,  her  feet  against  the  other, 
and  burst  it  open.  I  had  most  certainly  underesti 
mated  her  strength  and  resources. 

The  crew,  warned  of  peril,  searched  the  whole 
schooner  over,  slowly  and  methodically,  lighted  by 
lanterns.  We  could  not  find  her.  Well,  swimming 
comes  natural  to  snakes. 

I  went  ashore  as  quickly  as  I  could  get  a  boat  manned 
and  rowed.  I  took  Don  on  a  leash,  a  shot-gun  loaded, 
and  both  pockets  of  my  jacket  full  of  cartridges.  We 
ran  swiftly  along  the  beach,  Don  and  I,  and  then  turned 
into  the  grass  to  make  a  short  cut  for  Graves's  house. 
All  of  a  sudden  Don  began  to  tremble  with  eagerness 
and  nuzzle  and  sniff  among  the  roots  of  the  grass.  He 
was  "  making  game." 

"Good  Don,"  I  said,  "good  boy — hunt  her  up! 
Find  her!" 

The  moon  had  risen.  I  saw  two  figures  standing  in 
the  porch  of  Graves's  house.  I  was  about  to  call  to 
them  and  warn  Graves  that  Bo  was  loose  and  danger- 

360 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

ous — when  a  scream — shrill  and  frightful — rang  in 
my  ears.  I  saw  Graves  turn  to  his  bride  and  catch 
her  in  his  arms. 

When  I  came  up  she  had  collected  her  senses  and 
was  behaving  splendidly.  While  Graves  fetched  a 
lantern  and  water  she  sat  down  on  the  porch,  her  back 
against  the  house,  and  undid  her  garter,  so  that  I  could 
pull  the  stocking  off  her  bitten  foot.  Her  instep,  into 
which  Bo's  venomous  teeth  had  sunk,  was  already 
swollen  and  discolored.  I  slashed  the  teeth-marks 
this  way  and  that  with  my  lancet.  And  Mrs.  Graves 
kept  saying:  "All  right — all  right — don't  mind  me — 
do  what's  best." 

Don's  leash  had  wedged  between  two  of  the  porch 
planks,  and  all  the  time  we  were  working  over  Mrs. 
Graves  he  whined  and  struggled  to  get  loose. 

"  Graves,"  I  said,  when  we  had  done  what  we  could, 
"  if  your  wife  begins  to  seem  faint,  give  her  brandy — 
just  a  very  little — at  a  time — and — I  think  we  were 
in  time — and  for  God's  sake  don't  ever  let  her  know 
why  she  was  bitten — or  by  what " 

Then  I  turned  and  freed  Don  and  took  off  his  leash. 

The  moonlight  was  now  very  white  and  brilliant. 
In  the  sandy  path  that  led  from  Graves's  porch  I  saw 
the  print  of  feet — shaped  just  like  human  feet — less 
than  an  inch  long.  I  made  Don  smell  them,  and  said: 

" Hunt  close,  boy!    Hunt  close!" 
361 


BACK  THERE  IN  THE  GRASS 

Thus  hunting,  we  moved  slowly  through  the  grass 
toward  the  interior  of  the  island.  The  scent  grew 
hotter — suddenly  Don  began  to  move  more  stiffly — 
as  if  he  had  the  rheumatism — his  eyes  straight  ahead 
saw  something  that  I  could  not  see — the  tip  of  his  tail 
vibrated  furiously — he  sank  lower  and  lower — his  legs 
worked  more  and  more  stiffly — his  head  was  thrust 
forward  to  the  full  stretch  of  his  neck  toward  a  thick 
clump  of  grass.  In  the  act  of  taking  a  wary  step  he 
came  to  a  dead  halt — his  right  forepaw  just  clear  of 
the  ground.  The  tip  of  his  tail  stopped  vibrating. 
The  tail  itself  stood  straight  out  behind  him  and  be 
came  rigid  like  a  bar  of  iron.  I  never  saw  a  stancher 
point. 

"Steady,  boy!" 

I  pushed  forward  the  safety  of  my  shot-gun  and  stood 
at  attention. 

"How  is  she?" 

"Seems  to  be  pulling  through.  I  heard  you  fire 
both  barrels.  What  luck  ?  " 


362 


ASABRI 


ASABRI 

Asabri,  head  of  the  great  banking  house  of  Asabri 
Brothers  in  Rome,  had  been  a  great  sportsman  in  his 
youth.  But  by  middle-age  he  had  grown  a  little  tired, 
you  may  say;  so  that  whereas  formerly  he  had  de 
pended  upon  his  own  exertions  for  pleasure  and  exhil 
aration,  he  looked  now  with  favor  upon  automobiles, 
motor-boats,  and  saddle-horses. 

Almost  every  afternoon  he  rode  alone  in  the  Cam- 
pagna,  covering  great  distances  on  his  stanch  Irish 
mare,  Biddy.  She  was  the  handsomest  horse  in  Rome; 
her  master  was  the  handsomest  man.  He  looked  like 
some  old  Roman  consul  going  out  to  govern  and  civil 
ize.  Peasants  whom  he  passed  touched  their  hats  to 
him  automatically.  His  face  in  repose  was  a  sort  of 
command. 

One  day  as  he  rode  out  of  Rome  he  saw  that  fog 
was  gathering;  and  he  resolved,  for  there  was  an  in 
exhaustible  well  of  boyishness  within  him,  to  get  lost 
in  it.  He  had  no  engagement  for  that  night;  his  fam 
ily  had  already  left  Rome  for  their  villa  on  Lake  Como. 
Nobody  would  worry  about  him  except  Luigi,  his 
valet.  And  as  for  this  one,  Asabri  said  to  himself: 

365 


ASABRI 

"He  is  a  spoiled  child  of  fortune;  let  him  worry  for 
once." 

He  did  not  believe  in  fever;  he  believed  in  a  good 
digestion  and  good  habits.  He  knew  every  inch  of 
the  Campagna,  or  thought  he  did;  and  he  knew  that 
under  the  magic  of  fog  the  most  familiar  parts  of  it 
became  unfamiliar  and  strange.  He  had  lost  himself 
upon  it  once  or  twice  before,  to  his  great  pleasure  and 
exhilaration.  He  had  felt  like  some  daring  explorer 
in  an  unknown  country.  He  thought  that  perhaps  he 
might  be  forced  to  spend  the  night  in  some  peasant's 
home  smelling  of  cheese  and  goats.  He  would  reward 
his  hosts  in  the  morning  beyond  the  dreams  of  their 
undoubted  avarice.  There  would  be  a  beautiful  daugh 
ter  with  a  golden  voice:  he  would  see  to  it  that  she 
became  a  famous  singer.  He  would  give  the  father 
a  piece  of  fertile  land  with  an  ample  house  upon  it. 
Every  day  the  happy  family  would  go  down  on  their 
knees  and  pray  for  his  soul.  He  knew  of  nothing  more 
delicious  than  to  surprise  unexpecting  and  deserving 
people  with  stable  benefactions.  And  besides,  if  only 
for  the  sake  of  his  boyhood,  he  loved  dearly  the  smell 
of  cheese  and  goats. 

A  goat  had  been  his  foster-mother;  it  was  to  her 
that  he  attributed  his  splendid  constitution  and  activity, 
which  had  filled  in  the  spaces  between  his  financial  suc 
cesses  with  pleasure.  As  he  trotted  on  into  the  fog 

366 


ASABRI 

he  tried  to  recall  having  knowingly  done  harm  to  some 
body  or  other;  and  because  he  could  not,  his  face  of  a 
Roman  emperor  took  on  a  great  look  of  peace. 

"  Biddy,"  he  said  after  a  time,  in  English  (she  was 
an  Irish  horse,  and  English  was  the  nearest  he  could 
get  to  her  native  language),  "  this  is  no  common  Roman 
mist;  it's  a  genuine  fog  that  has  been  sucked  up  Tiber 
from  the  salt  sea.  You  can  smell  salt  and  fish.  We 
shall  be  lost,  possibly  for  a  long  time.  There  will  be 
no  hot  mash  for  you  to-night.  You  will  eat  what 
goats  eat  and  be  very  grateful.  Perhaps  you  will 
meet  some  rural  donkey  during  our  adventures,  and 
I  must  ask  you  to  use  the  poor  little  beast's  rustic  ig 
norance  with  the  greatest  tact  and  forbearance.  You 
will  tell  her  tales  of  cities  and  travels;  but  do  not  lie 
to  excess,  or  appear  condescending,  lest  you  find  her 
rude  wits  a  match  for  your  own  and  are  ashamed." 

Asabri  did  not  spend  the  night  in  a  peasant's  hut. 
Biddy  did  not  meet  any  country  donkey  to  swap  yarns 
with.  But  inasmuch  as  the  pair  lost  themselves  thor 
oughly,  it  must  be  admitted  that  some  of  the  banker's 
wishes  came  true. 

He  had  not  counted  on  two  things.  At  dinner-time 
he  was  hungry;  at  supper- time  he  was  ravenous.  And 
he  no  longer  thought  of  losing  himself  on  purpose,  but 
made  all  the  efforts  in  his  power  to  get  back  to  Rome. 

"  Good  Heavens,"  he  muttered,  "  we  ought  to  have 
stumbled  on  something  by  this  time." 

367 


ASABRI 

Biddy  might  have  answered:  "  I've  done  some  stum 
bling,  thank  you,  and  thanks  to  you."  But  she  didn't. 
Instead,  she  lifted  her  head  and  ears,  looked  to  the 
left,  snorted,  and  shied.  She  shied  very  carefully,  how 
ever,  because  she  did  not  know  what  she  might  shy 
into;  and  Asabri  laughed. 

There  was  a  glimmering  point  of  light  off  to  the  left, 
and  he  urged  Biddy  toward  it.  He  saw  presently  that 
it  was  a  fire  built  against  a  ruined  and  unfamiliar 
tomb. 

The  fire  was  cooking  something  in  a  kettle.  There 
was  a  smell  of  garlic.  Three  young  men  sat  cross- 
legged,  watching  the  fire  and  the  kettle.  Against  the 
tomb  leaned  three  long  guns,  very  old  and  dangerous. 

"Brigands!"  smiled  Asabri,  and  he  hailed  them: 

"Ho  there!  Wake  up!  I  am  a  squadron  of  police 
attacking  you  from  the  rear." 

He  rode  unarmed  into  their  midst  and  slid  uncon 
cernedly  from  his  saddle  to  the  ground. 

"Put  up  your  weapons,  brothers,"  he  said;  "I  was 
joking.  It  seems  that  I  am  in  danger,  not  you." 

The  young  men,  upon  whom  "  brigand"  was  written 
in  no  uncertain  signs,  were  very  much  embarrassed. 
One  of  them  smiled  nervously  and  showed  a  great 
many  very  white  teeth. 

"Lucky  for  us,"  he  said,  "that  you  weren't  what 
you  said  you  were." 

"Yes,"  said  Asabri;  "I  should  have  potted  the  lot 
368 


ASABRI 

of  you  with  one  volley  and  reported  at  head-quarters 
that  it  had  been  necessary,  owing  to  the  stubborn  re 
sistance  which  you  offered." 

The  three  young  men  smiled  sheepishly. 

"I  see  that  you  are  familiar  with  the  ways  of  the 
police,"  said  one  of  them. 

"  May  I  sit  with  you  ?  "  Asabri  asked.     "  Thanks.1' 

He  sat  in  silence  for  a  moment;  and  the  three  young 
men  examined  with  great  respect  the  man's  splendid 
round  head,  and  his  face  of  a  Roman  emperor. 

"Whose  tomb  is  this?"  he  asked  them. 

"  It  is  ours,"  said  the  one  who  had  first  smiled.  "  It 
used  to  hallow  the  remains  of  Attulius  Cimber." 

"Oho!"  said  Asabri.  "Attulius  Cimber,  a  direct 
ancestor  of  my  friend  and  associate  Sullandenti.  And 
tell  me  how  far  is  it  to  Rome  ?  " 

"A  long  way.  You  could  not  find  the  half  of  it 
to-night." 

"  Brothers,"  said  Asabri,  "  has  business  been  good  ? 
I  ask  for  a  reason." 

"The  reason,  sir?" 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  I  thought,  if  I  should  not  be 
considered  grasping,  to  ask  you  for  a  mouthful  of 
soup." 

Confusion  seized  the  brigands.  They  protested  that 
they  were  ungrateful  dogs  to  keep  the  noble  guest 
upon  the  tenterhooks  of  hunger.  They  called  upor 

369 


ASABRI 

God  to  smite  them  down  for  inhospitable  ne'er-do- 
weels.  They  plied  him  with  soup,  with  black  bread; 
they  roasted  strips  of  goat's  flesh  for  him;  and  from 
the  hollow  of  the  tomb  they  fetched  bottles  of  red  wine 
in  straw  jackets. 

Presently  Asabri  sighed,  and  offered  them  cigarettes 
from  a  gold  case. 

"  For  what  I  have  received,"  said  he,  "  may  a  cour 
teous  and  thoughtful  God  make  me  truly  thankful. 
...  I  wish  that  I  could  offer  you,  in  return  for  your 
hospitality,  something  more  substantial  than  cigarettes. 
The  case?  If  it  were  any  case  but  that  one!  A  pres 
ent  from  my  wife." 

He  drew  from  its  pocket  a  gold  repeater  upon  which 
his  initials  were  traced  in  brilliants. 

"Midnight.     Listen!" 

He  pressed  a  spring,  and  the  exquisite  chimes  of 
the  watch  spoke  in  the  stillness  like  the  bells  of  a  fairy 
church. 

"  And  this,"  he  said,  "  was  a  present  from  my  mother, 
who  is  dead." 

The  three  brigands  crossed  themselves,  and  ex 
pressed  the  regrets  which  good-breeding  required  of 
them.  The  one  that  had  been  the  last  to  help  himself 
to  a  cigarette  now  returned  the  case  to  Asabri,  with 
a  bow  and  a  mumbling  of  thanks. 

"  What  a  jolly  life  you  lead,"  exclaimed  the  banker. 
370 


ASABRI 

"Tell  me,  you  have  had  some  good  hauls  lately? 
What?" 

The  oldest  of  the  three,  a  dark,  taciturn  youth, 
answered,  "The  gentleman  is  a  great  joker." 

"Believe  me,"  said  Asabri,  "it  is  from  habit — not 
from  the  heart.  When  I  rode  out  from  Rome  to-day, 
it  was  with  the  intention  never  to  return.  When  I 
came  upon  you  and  saw  your  long  guns  and  suspected 
your  profession  in  life,  I  said:  'Good!  Perhaps  these 
young  men  will  murder  me  for  my  watch  and  ciga 
rette  case  and  the  loose  silver  in  my  breeches  pocket, 
and  save  me  a  world  of  trouble '  " 

The  three  brigands  protested  that  nothing  had  ever 
been  farther  from  their  thoughts. 

"Instead  of  which,"  he  went  on,  "you  have  fed 
me  and  put  heart  in  me.  I  shall  return  to  Rome  in 
the  morning  and  face  whatever  music  my  own  in 
fatuated  foolishness  has  set  going.  Do  you  under 
stand  anything  of  finance  ?  " 

The  taciturn  brigand  grinned  sheepishly. 

He  said  that  he  had  had  one  once;  but  that  the 
priest  had  touched  it  with  a  holy  relic  and  it  had 
gone  away.  "It  was  on  the  back  of  my  neck,"  he 
said. 

Asabri  laughed. 

"I  should  have  said  banking,"  said  he,  "stocks  and 
bonds." 

371 


ASABRI 

The  brigands  admitted  that  they  knew  nothing  of 
these  things.  Asabri  sighed. 

"Two  months  ago,"  he  said,  "I  was  a  rich  man. 
To-day  I  have  nothing.  In  a  few  days  it  will  be  known 
that  I  have  nothing;  and  then,  my  friends — the  deluge. 
Such  is  finance.  From  great  beginnings,  lame  endings. 
And  yet  the  converse  may  be  true.  I  have  seen  great 
endings  come  of  small  beginnings.  Even  now  there  is 
a  chance  for  a  man  with  a  little  capital.  ..." 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  hands  to  heaven. 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  "  if  I  could  touch  even  five  thousand 
lire  I  could  retrieve  my  own  fortunes  and  make  the 
fortunes  of  whomsoever  advanced  me  the  money." 

The  sullen  brigand  had  been  doing  a  sum  on  his 
fingers. 

"How  so,  excellency?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  Asabri,  "  it  is  very  simple !  I  should  buy 
certain  stocks,  which  owing  to  certain  conditions  are 
very  cheap,  and  I  should  sell  them  very  dear.  You 
have  heard  of  America?" 

They  smiled  and  nodded  eagerly. 

"Of  Wall  Street?" 

They  looked  blank. 

"Doubtless,"  said  the  banker,  "you  have  been 
taught  by  your  priests  to  believe  that  the  great  church 
of  St.  Peter,  in  Rome,  is  the  actual  centre  of  the  uni 
verse.  Is  it  not  so?" 

372 


ASABRI 

They  assented,  not  without  wonder,  since  the  fact 
\»ras  well  known. 

"Recent  geographers,"  said  Asabri,  "unwilling  to 
take  any  statement  for  granted,  have,  after  prolonged 
and  scientific  investigation,  discovered  that  this  idea 
is  hocus  pocus.  The  centre  of  the  universe  is  in  the 
United  States,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  in  Wall  Street. 
The  number  in  the  street,  to  be  precise,  is  fifty-nine. 
From  fifty-nine  Wall  Street,  the  word  goes  out  to  the 
extremities  of  the  world:  'Let  prices  be  low.'  Or: 
'Let  them  be  high.'  And  so  they  become,  according 
to  the  word.  But  unless  I  can  find  five  thousand  lire 
with  which  to  take  advantage  of  this  fact,  why  to 
morrow " 

"To-morrow?"  asked  the  brigand  who  had  been 
first  to  smile. 

"Two  months  ago,"  said  Asabri,  "I  was  perhaps 
the  most  envied  man  in  Italy.  To-morrow  I  shall  be 
laughed  at."  He  shrugged  his  powerful  shoulders. 

"But  if  five  thousand  lire  could  be  found?" 

It  was  the  sullen  brigand  who  spoke,  and  his  com 
panions  eyed  him  with  some  misgiving. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Asabri,  "  I  should  rehabilitate 
my  fortune  and  that  of  the  man,  or  men,  who  came 
to  my  assistance." 

"Suppose,"  said  the  sullen  one,  "that  I  were  in  a 
position  to  offer  you  the  loan  of  five  thousand  lire,  or 

373 


ASABRI 

four  thousand  eight  hundred  and  ninety-two,  to  be 
exact,  what  surety  should  I  receive  that  my  fortunes 
and  those  of  my  associates  would  be  mended  thereby  ?" 

"My  word,"  said  Asabri  simply,  and  he  turned  his 
face  of  a  Roman  emperor  and  looked  the  sullen  brigand 
directly  in  the  eye. 

"  Words,"  said  this  one,  although  his  eyes  fell  before 
the  steadiness  of  the  banker's,  "are  of  all  kinds  and 
conditions,  according  to  whoso  gives  them." 

Asabri  smiled,  and  sure  of  his  notoriety:  "I  am 
Asabri,"  said  he. 

They  examined  him  anew  with  a  great  awe.  The 
youngest  said: 

"And  you  have  fallen  upon  evil  days!  I  should 
have  been  less  astonished  if  some  one  were  to  tell  me 
that  the  late  pope  had  received  employment  in  hell." 

"Beppo,"  said  the  sullen  brigand,  "whatever  the 
state  of  his  fortunes,  the  word  of  Asabri  is  sufficient. 
Go  into  the  tomb  of  Attulius  and  fetch  out  the 
money." 

The  money— silver,  copper,  and  notes  of  small  de 
nominations — was  in  a  dirty  leather  bag. 

"Will  you  count  it,  sir?" 

With  the  palms  of  his  hands  Asabri  answered  that 
he  would  not.  Inwardly,  it  was  as  if  he  had  been 
made  of  smiles;  but  he  showed  them  a  stern  counte 
nance  when  he  said: 

374 


'ASABRI 

"One  thing!  Before  I  touch  this  money,  is  there 
blood  on  it?" 

"High  hands  only,"  said  the  sullen  brigand;  but 
the  youngest  protested. 

"Indeed,  yes,"  he  said,  "there  is  blood  upon  it. 
Look,  see,  and  behold!" 

He  bared  a  breast  on  which  the  skin  was  fine  and 
satiny  like  a  woman's,  and  they  saw  in  the  firelight 
the  cicatrice  of  a  newly  healed  wound. 

"A  few  drops  of  mine,"  he  said  proudly.  "May 
they  bring  the  money  luck." 

"One  thing  more,"  said  Asabri;  "I  have  said  that 
I  will  mend  your  fortunes.  What  sum  apiece  would 
make  you  comfortable  for  the  rest  of  your  days  and 
teach  you  to  see  the  evil  in  your  present  manner  of 
life?" 

"  If  the  money  were  to  be  doubled,"  said  the  sullen 
brigand,  "then  each  of  us  could  have  what  he  most 
desires." 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  the  banker. 
"  For  me,"  said  the  sullen  brigand,  "  there  is  a  cer 
tain  piece  of  land  upon  which  are  grapes,  figs,  and 
olives." 

The  second  brigand  said:  "I  am  a  waterman  by 
birth  and  by  longing.  If  I  could  purchase  a  certain 
barge  upon  which  I  have  long  had  an  eye,  I  should  do 
well  and  honestly  in  the  world,  and  happily." 

375 


ASABRI 

"And  you?  What  do  you  want?"  Asabri  smiled 
paternally  in  the  face  of  the  youngest  brigand. 

This  one  showed  his  beautiful  teeth  a  moment,  and 
drew  the  rags  together  over  his  scarred  breast. 

"  I  am  nineteen  years  of  age,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes 
glistened.  "There  is  a  girl,  sir,  in  my  village.  Her 
eyes  are  like  velvet;  her  skin  is  smooth  as  custard. 
She  is  very  beautiful.  If  I  could  go  to  her  father  with 
a  certain  sum  of  money,  he  would  not  ask  where  I  had 
gotten  it — that  is  why  I  have  robbed  on  the  highway. 
He  would  merely  stretch  forth  his  hands  and  roll  his 
fat  eyes  heavenward,  and  say:  *  Bless  you,  my  chil 
dren/" 

"  But  the  girl,"  said  Asabri. 

"It  is  wonderful,"  said  the  youngest  brigand,  "how 
she  loves  me.  And  when  I  told  her  that  I  was  going 
upon  the  road  to  earn  the  moneys  necessary  for  our 
happiness,  she  said  that  she  would  climb  down  from 
her  window  at  night  and  come  with  me.  But,"  he 
concluded  unctuously,  "  I  pointed  out  to  her  that  from 
sin  springs  nothing  but  unhappiness." 

"We  formed  a  fellowship,  we  three,"  said  the  sec 
ond  brigand,  "and  swore  an  oath:  to  take  from  the 
world  so  much  as  would  make  us  happy,  and  no  more." 

"  My  friends,"  said  Asabri,  "  there  are  worse  brig 
ands  than  yourselves  living  in  palaces." 

The  fog  had  lifted,  and  it  was  beginning  to  grow 
376 


ASABRI 

light.    Asabri  gathered  up  the  heavy  bag  of  money 
and  prepared  to  depart. 

"How  long,"  said  the  sullen  brigand,  "with  all  re 
spect,  before  your  own  fortunes  will  be  mended,  sir, 
and  ours?" 

"  You  are  quite  sure  you  know  nothing  of  stocks  ? " 

"  Nothing,  excellency." 

"Then  listen.  They  shall  be  mended  to-day.  To 
morrow  come  to  my  bank " 

"  Oh,  sir,  we  dare  not  show  our  faces  in  Rome." 

"Very  well,  then;  to-morrow  at  ten  sharp  I  shall 
leave  Rome  in  a  motor-car.  Watch  for  me  along  the 
Appian  Way." 

He  shook  them  by  their  brown,  grimy  hands, 
mounted  the  impatient  Biddy,  and  was  gone — bliss 
fully  smiling. 

Upon  reaching  Rome  he  rode  to  his  palace  and 
assured  Luigi  the  valet  that  all  was  well.  Then  he 
bathed,  changed,  breakfasted,  napped,  and  drove  to 
the  hospital  of  Our  Lady  in  Emergencies.  He  saw  the 
superior  and  gave  her  the  leather  bag  containing  the 
brigands'  savings. 

"  For  my  sins,"  he  said.  "  I  have  told  lies  half  the 
night." 

Then  he  drove  to  his  great  banking  house  and  sent 
for  the  cashier. 

"  Make  me  up,"  said  he,  "  three  portable  parcels  of 
fifty  thousand  lire  each." 

377 


ASABRI 

The  next  day  at  ten  he  left  Rome  in  a  black  and 
beauteous  motor-car,  and  drove  slowly  along  the  Ap- 
pian  Way.  He  had  left  his  mechanic  behind,  and  was 
prepared  to  renew  his  tires  and  his  youth.  Packed 
away,  he  had  luncheon  and  champagne  enough  for 
four;  and  he  had  not  forgotten  to  bring  along  the 
three  parcels  of  money. 

The  three  brigands  stepped  into  the  Appian  Way 
from  behind  a  mass  of  fallen  masonry.  They  had 
found  the  means  to  shave  cleanly,  and  perhaps  to 
wash.  They  were  adorned  with  what  were  evidently 
their  very  best  clothes.  The  youngest,  whose  ambi 
tion  was  the  girl  he  loved,  even  wore  a  necktie. 

Asabri  brought  the  motor  to  a  swift,  oily,  and  pol 
ished  halt. 

"Weirmet,"  he  said,  "since  all  is  well.  If  you," 
he  smiled  into  the  face  of  the  sullen  brigand,  "  will  be 
so  good  as  to  sit  beside  me!  .  .  .  The  others  shall  sit 
in  behind.  .  .  .  We  shall  go  first,"  he  continued,  when 
all  were  comfortably  seated,  "to  have  a  look  at  that 
little  piece  of  land  on  which  grow  figs,  olives,  and 
grapes.  We  shall  buy  it,  and  break  our  fast  in  the 
shade  of  the  oldest  fig  tree.  It  is  going  to  be  a  hot 
day." 

"  It  is  below  Rome,  and  far,"  said  the  sullen  brigand; 
"but  since  the  barge  upon  which  my  friend  has  set 
his  heart  belongs  to  a  near  neighbor,  we  shall  be  kill 
ing  two  birds  with  one  stone.  But  with  all  defer- 

378 


ASABRI 

ence,  excellency,  have  you  really  retrieved  your  fort 
unes?" 

"And  yours/'  said  Asabri.  "Indeed,  I  am  to-day 
as  rich  as  ever  I  was,  with  the  exception" — his  eyes 
twinkled  behind  his  goggles — "  of  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  lire." 

The  sullen  brigand  whistled;  and  although  the  roads 
were  rough,  they  proceeded,  thanks  to  the  shock- 
absorbers  on  Asabri's  car,  in  complete  comfort,  at  a 
great  pace. 

In  the  village  nearest  to  the  property  upon  which 
the  sullen  brigand  had  cast  his  eye,  they  picked  up  a 
notary  through  whom  to  effect  the  purchase. 

The  little  farm  was  rather  stony,  but  sweet  to  the 
eye  as  a  bouquet  of  flowers,  with  the  deep  greens  of  the 
figs  and  grapes  and  the  silvery  greens  of  the  olives. 
Furthermore,  there  were  roses  in  the  door-yard,  and 
the  young  and  childless  widow  to  whom  the  home 
stead  belonged  stood  among  the  roses.  She  was  brown 
and  scarlet,  and  her  eyes  were  black  and  merry. 

Yes,  yes,  she  agreed,  she  would  sell!  There  was  a 
mortgage  on  the  place.  She  intended  to  pay  that  off 
and  have  a  little  over.  True,  the  place  paid.  But, 
Good  Lord,  she  lived  all  alone,  and  she  didn't  enjoy 
that! 

They  invited  the  pretty  widow  to  luncheon,  and  she 
helped  them  spread  the  cloth  under  a  fig  tree  that  had 

379 


ASABRI 

thrown  shade  for  five  hundred  years.  Asabri  passed 
the  champagne,  and  they  all  became  very  merry  to 
gether.  Indeed,  the  sullen  brigand  became  so  merry 
and  happy  that  he  no  longer  addressed  Asabri  re 
spectfully  as  "excellency,"  but  gratefully  and  affec 
tionately  as  "  my  father." 

This  one  became  more  and  more  delighted  with  the 
term,  until  finally  he  said: 

"  It  is  true,  that  in  a  sense  I  am  this  young  man's 
father,  since  I  believe  that  if  I  were  to  advise  him  to  do 
a  certain  thing  he  would  do  it." 

"That  is  God's  truth,"  cried  the  sullen  brigand; 
"if  he  advised  me  to  advance  single-handed  against 
the  hosts  of  hell,  I  should  do  so." 

"  My  son,"  said  Asabri,  "  our  fair  guest  affirms  that 
upon  this  beautiful  little  farm  she  has  had  everything 
that  she  could  wish  except  companionship.  Are  you 
not  afraid  that  you,  in  your  turn,  will  here  suffer  from 
loneliness?"  He  turned  to  the  pretty  widow.  "I 
wish,"  said  he,  "  to  address  myself  to  you  in  behalf  of 
this  young  man." 

The  others  became  very  silent.  The  notary  lifted 
his  glass  to  his  lips.  The  widow  blushed.  Said  she: 

"I  like  his  looks  well  enough;  but  I  know  nothing 
about  him." 

"I  can  tell  you  this,"  said  Asabri,  "that  he  has 
been  a  man  of  exemplary  honesty  since — yesterday, 

380 


ASABRI 

and  that  under  the  seat  of  my  automobile  he  has,  in  a 
leather  bag,  a  fortune  of  fifty  thousand  lire." 

The  three  brigands  gasped. 

"He  is  determined,  in  any  case,"  the  banker  con 
tinued,  "  to  purchase  your  little  farm;  but  it  seems  to 
me  that  it  would  be  a  beautiful  end  to  a  story  that  has 
not  been  without  a  certain  aroma  of  romance  if  you, 
my  fair  guest,  were,  so  to  speak,  to  throw  yourself  into 
the  bargain.  Think  it  over.  The  mortgage  lifted,  a 
handsome  husband,  and  plenty  of  money  in  the  bank. 
.  .  .  Think  it  over.  And  in  any  case — the  pleasure 
of  a  glass  of  wine  with  you!" 

They  touched  glasses.  Across  the  golden  bubbling, 
smiles  leapt. 

"Let  us,"  said  the  second  brigand,  "leave  the  pair 
in  question  to  talk  the  matter  over,  while  the  rest  of 
us  go  and  attend  to  the  purchase  of  my  barge." 

"Well  thought,"  said  Asabri.  "My  children,  we 
shall  be  gone  about  an  hour.  See  if,  in  that  time,  you 
cannot  grow  fond  of  each  other.  Perhaps,  if  you 
took  the  bag  of  money  into  the  house  and  pretended 
that  it  already  belonged  to  both  of  you,  and  counted 
it  over,  something  might  be  accomplished." 

The  youngest  brigand  caught  the  sullen  one  by  the 
sleeve  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  If  you  want  her,  let  her  count  the  money.  If  you 
don't,  count  it  yourself." 

381 


ASABRI 

The  second  brigand  turned  to  Asabri.  "Excel 
lency,"  he  whispered,  "you  are  as  much  my  father  as 
his." 

"True,"  said  Asabri,  "what  of  it?" 

"Nothing!  Only,  the  man  who  owns  the  barge 
which  I  desire  to  purchase  has  a  very  beautiful  daugh 
ter." 

Asabri  laughed  so  that  for  a  moment  he  could 
not  bend  over  to  crank  his  car.  And  he  cried 
aloud : 

"France,  France,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  champagne! 
And  I  thank  thee,  O  Italy,  for  thy  merry  hearts  and 
thy  suggestive  climate !  .  .  .  My  son,  if  the  bargeman's 
daughter  is  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  she  is  yours. 
But  we  must  tell  the  father  that  until  recently  you  have 
been  a  very  naughty  fellow." 

They  remained  with  the  second  brigand  long  enough 
to  see  him  exchange  a  kiss  of  betrothal  with  the  barge 
man's  daughter,  while  the  bargeman  busied  himself 
counting  the  money;  and  then  they  returned  to  see 
how  the  sullen  brigand  and  the  pretty  widow  were 
getting  on. 

The  sullen  brigand  was  cutting  dead-wood  out  of 
a  fig  tree  with  a  saw.  His  face  was  supremely  happy. 
The  widow  stood  beneath  and  directed  him. 

"Closer  to  the  tree,  stupid,"  she  said,  "else  the 
wound  will  not  heal  properly." 

382 


ASABRI 

The  youngest  brigand  laid  a  hand  that  trembled 
upon  Asabri's  arm. 

"  Oh,  my  father,"  he  said,  "  these  doves  are  already 
cooing!  And  it  is  very  far  to  the  place  where  I  would 
be." 

But  Asabri  went  first  to  the  fig  tree,  and  he  said  to 
the  widow: 

"Is  all  well?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "we  have  agreed  to  differ  for  the 
rest  of  our  lives.  It  seems  that  this  stupid  fellow 
needs  somebody  to  look  after  him.  And  it  seems  to 
be  God's  will  that  that  somebody  should  be  I." 

"Bless  you  then,  my  children,"  said  Asabri;  "and 
farewell!  I  shall  come  to  the  wedding." 

They  returned  the  notary  to  his  little  home  in  the 
village;  and  the  fees  which  he  was  to  receive  for  the 
documents  which  he  was  to  draw  up  made  him  so 
happy  that  he  flung  his  arms  about  his  wife,  who  was 
rather  a  prim  person,  and  fell  to  kissing  her  with  the 
most  boisterous  good  will. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  reached  the  village  in  which 
the  sweetheart  of  the  youngest  brigand  lived.  Asabri 
thought  that  he  had  never  seen  a  girl  more  exquisite. 

"  And  we  have  loved  each  other,"  said  the  youngest 
brigand,  his  arm  about  her  firm,  round  waist,  "  since 
we  were  children.  ...  I  think  I  am  dying,  I  am  so 
happy." 

383 


ASABRI 

"Shall  you  buy  a  farm,  a  barge,  a  business ?"  asked 
the  banker. 

"Whatever  is  decided,"  said  the  girl,  "it  will  be  a 
paradise." 

Her  old  father  came  out  of  the  house. 

"  I  have  counted  the  money.     It  is  correct." 

Then  he  rolled  his  fat  eyes  heavenward,  just  as  the 
youngest  brigand  had  prophesied,  and  said:  "Bless 
you,  my  children!" 

"I  must  be  going,"  said  Asabri;  "but  there  is  one 
thing." 

Four  dark  luminous  eyes  looked  into  his. 

"  You  have  not  kissed,"  said  Asabri;  "  let  it  be  now, 
so  that  I  may  remember." 

Without  embarrassment,  the  young  brigand  and  his 
sweetheart  folded  their  arms  closely  about  each  other, 
and  kissed  each  other,  once,  slowly,  with  infinite  ten 
derness. 

"I  am  nineteen,"  said  the  youngest  brigand;  then, 
and  he  looked  heavenward:  "God  help  us  to  forget 
the  years  that  have  been  wasted ! " 

Asabri  drove  toward  Rome,  his  headlights  piercing 
the  darkness.  The  champagne  was  no  longer  in  his 
blood.  He  was  in  a  calm,  judicial  mood. 

"To  think,"  he  said  to  himself,  "that  for  a  mere 
matter  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  lire,  a  rich  old 
man  can  be  young  again  for  a  day  or  two  I" 

384 


ASABRI 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  when  he  reached  his  palace 
in  Rome.  Luigi,  the  valet,  was  sitting  up  for  him,  as 
usual. 

"  This  is  the  second  time  in  three  days,"  said  Luigi, 
"  that  you  have  been  out  all  night.  ...  A  telegram," 
he  threatened,  "would  bring  the  mistress  back  to 
Rome." 

"  Forgive  me,  old  friend,"  said  Asabri,  and  he  leaned 
on  Luigi's  shoulder;  " but  I  have  fallen  in  love.  .  .  ." 

"  What! "  screamed  the  valet.     "  At  your  age  ? " 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  said  Asabri,  a  little  sadly,  "  that 
at  my  age  a  man  most  easily  falls  in  love — with  life." 

"You  shall  go  to  bed  at  once,"  said  Luigi  sternly. 
"I  shall  prepare  a  hot  lemonade,  and  you  shall  take 
five  grains  of  quinine.  .  .  .  You  are  damp.  .  .  .  The 
mist  from  the  Campagna.  ..." 

Asabri  yawned  in  the  ancient  servitor's  face. 

"Luigi,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  shall  buy  you  a  farm 
and  a  wife;  or  a  barge  and  a  wife.  ..." 

"You  do,  do  you?"  said  Luigi.  "And  I  think 
you'll  take  your  quinine  like  a  Trojan,  or  I'll  know 
the  reason  why." 

"  Everybody  regards  me  as  rather  an  important  per 
son,"  complained  Asabri,  "  except  you." 

"You  were  seven  years  old,"  said  Luigi,  "when  I 
came  to  serve  you.  I  have  aged.  But  you  haven't. 
You  didn't  know  enough  then  to  come  in  when  it 

385 


ASABRI 

rained,  as  the  Americans  say.  You  don't  now.  I 
would  not  speak  of  this  to  others.  But  to  you — yes — 
for  your  own  good." 

Asabri  smiled  blissfully. 

"  In  all  the  world,"  he  said,  "  there  is  only  one  thing 
for  a  man  to  fear,  that  he  will  learn  to  take  the  world 
seriously;  in  other  words,  that  he  will  grow  up.  ... 
You  may  bring  the  hot  lemonade  and  the  quinine  when 
they  are  ready." 

And  then  he  blew  his  nose  of  a  Roman  emperor; 
for  he  had  indeed  contracted  a  slight  cold. 


386 


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